purchase

There’s always a place
at the table they tell you,
once the word is out.
Remembered by friends like
high school locker combinations or
the lineage of love lessons.
Every first kiss at once
lining up the last, half
the categorical
tomorrow’s long unknowing,
the words running on
empty for years after
the meaning went dark.
This place left, sitting
on an unmade bed,
staring down the barrel,
smoke forever curling
without purchase,
trying to find the sky.