A Key Change and A Time Signature

Two miles away from making bail
and six cigarettes short of party
A soft yet accentuated smell lingers
just beneath your lip
like a milk mustache that
you just forgot to wash

Half a centimeter of fingernails
from the last clear thoughts you
pieced together, two more minutes
and you'd have written yourself a book
but instead you've got two used
ticket stubs and a couple small salsa stains

Which color transit do you stub your ticket
for now? When you can only count the people
you know in this city backwards, penned inside
your overcoat and more decay exposing
itself more with each chatter

But as long as you're at least one sunset
from finding her again, and two missed
meals from those deep deep pangs, stand
up and move about, because your blood's
beating out still that slow waltz
When she's been tangoing away
for about six or seven of Trebek's Champions,
those finding the questions to ask
when they've been given all the answers