The music for romance flies out the window
pursuing chances for a warmer bed.
They won’t know how the chances that they had,
divided by the chances that they missed,
will tally: long division, no results.
Hard rock segues into blues — her morning mood —
in their concrete penthouse perched on Mesa Rock.
She remembers he’d said something quite profound
before he jumped. They both had been adults
about it all. It was nothing anymore.
Music makes more loose than musicals are worth,
she thinks. She opens curtains. Light leaks in
To find her penning post-romance insults.