Blue morning breaks like a promise shattered,
cigarette saints whisper sins through the static.
Your ghost still wears my winter coat,
threadbare elbows, pockets full of vertigo.
I kiss the bottle, taste the rust of your name—
every swallow a cathedral burning.
The sun crawls in like a coroner’s hymn,
painting these walls with the bruise of almost.
If I peel back the dawn, will I find us
or just the echo of wings you never used?