in the benches of her ribs
he searched for a door
a keyhole, the building
wherever she kept it
spent years in the parking lot
in a sky of patience
the engine still running
a fume possessed air
the windows up
leather sweating his skin
honking the horn
her body was a noisy city
too many streets with no names
no one would listen
until one day
he parked by a meadow in her mind
jumped off a cliff in her eye
every tear, a tombstone etched with his name.