The engine mutters, a black dust hovers
into his lungs. (She's thirsty)
Corner diner, lunch with ghosts,
A drunken note skips the record.

A casual glance by stuttered sips,
a trace of lipstick on her glass.
If she was braver, they would rise,
to touches, pauses, awkward steps.

She can't say "I want to be there by your side."

Hours later, the smoke's so dense
it leaves a print lined with ash.
(The final scene - some broken dialogue.)
In her dream, they dance between
the upturned chairs and empty dishes.
(Eight minutes lighter and she couldve been a wonderful actress)

The street lights move slow.
Her coffee tastes cold.
Brakes fail. The car is thrown.
Fingers trace the window.

His last image of her
told him she was still afraid.
"Lay him down before he sleeps."