I took one of the deep-fried rings the waitress
Left us and slipped it over your finger to see
If you could still smile for me.
You reached into your pack and pulled out a

Cheap white pen, and as I popped another ring
In my mouth, you rolled it in your palms.
“It helps the ink flow,” you said before you
Hovered the tip over the napkin, and

it wasn’t really a life
Seeped out, blotches marking where
Each pointed letter began and ended.
You then folded it, running your nail

Sharp along the seam before you
Slid it across the table, tucking it
Beneath my oily fingers, all of your
Words slowly melting into one.

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