Untitled (for now)

Wandering the now-empty
house searching for a lighter,
the air has lost its perfume
and the cat has given 
herself a pedicure
on the couch, leaving rags.
She rolls over for a belly
rub, but no one gives it.

It's started to rain outside,
cold for June, and the dark
wraps around the cigarette
like an old lover, cradling
the smoke and releasing.
As the patio begins to puddle
something dings in an adjacent
apartment; something finished.