Improv: Marks' "Hotel Fire"

Before we were led through the hotel's stairwell,
before you paused, telling me what you thought
of our neighbor's housecoat and pink slippers,
before that pregnancy test made itself known
to itself, to us, we lied pieced together
on those starched sheets in the steady,
open plastic of love. The alarm came
suddenly, imbuing thought into a thought
less tangible that we'd imagined. A cluster
of moments' explosions excised and examined,
Where would you like it, sir? hurried,
gasping, a breath like a dying leaf's. The fire
escapes' dull iron railing painted your fingertips
red, those flecks ironed into my wrinkled collar.
Where are you now, where.