Had you told me these
storms could be so
I would have disguised
I was early.
The chai and milk, spiced
on the table where I held
the books you left behind,
though I demur your offer
Did I ever tell you
about the high school
lunches I ate for
six years?-Pastebread bread
containing a lonesome slice of
A needle in an album pops and shifts
as Stardust drones, circulating
the classical guitar and twangy voice.
The speakers encased in wood grain
and coarse cloth that protects the cones.
picking plums ripe with summer's blush
my hands tremble
the fruit quivers in my fingers
a gnat flies into my nose and i sputter,
the plum plunks to the ground
A double chin.
Years go by
As the earth spins.
I keep the things you gave me
in a drawer but rarely reflect
on their presence in the two
weeks I had you or the next
two weeks when you pulled away.
Speaking to the fog, I light the candle,
the last possession death afforded me
before walking away from the mist.
It was January, so that afternoon
was brisk in the cloud's blockade.
Far beyond the galaxies unknown,
You are the moon that rises and shines.
I, being a constellation,
Humbly surround you.
I radiate upon your radiation,