Cement in chunk in piles of debris

In the body of the night with a shapely glass of rendered wine half-downed and drowsy with the scent of a half-gone woman lingering, I return to the alone and left-off I was before she came, before there was a coming or the thought that there was a starlit veranda somewhere I belonged to but could never seem to find.
I wanted to walk off again. Wanted to be anywhere they couldn't find me anymore and that was in motion. As restless as the sea I've crawled out of dozens of time, I surprised the bottle this time and paid half of what I usually do. I was this drunk two days ago and what had it got me? She broke down in a way I hadn't expected. A hard boiled woman who couldn't last against my wandering finally called in the chit she had coming to her from years ago. It was her father and I wasn't ever going to be that for her, so she choked up in front of the chinese joint and looked up at me, grasped my hand as I passed, spun me.
I saw then there was more than trouble. My hand flickered with the thought that if she opened her mouth I didn't want to hear what was going to come out.
I stepped into her and sucked her tongue into me, held it as long as I could, closed my eyes.