I love the way
your hair looks
so soaking wet
next to your living room door.
Itís what many raincoats hang dry for.
help with your groceries this time.
My dirty hands
may never lay again
on your refrigerator handle
yet your free
to leave your prints on my mind
In return I laid there
on your couch with my shoes on
from one of your foreboding bottles
a stolen kiss
from your martini glass,
and traces left of maroon,
apologies of which Iíve ingested the past.
Into your mirror
I stared At a heart
distraught and displaced
When I found my picture
aside and erased.
Inside of your bedroom I replaced your
burned down candles
And sullied sheets
with all of your fun
Doing things with else whom
that we could have done.
Within my memory is a vacancy
stuck like a bookmark;
of the way your body laid there naked in the dark,
like a beautiful sculpture of precious art.
Since I straightened out your fluttering turquoise curtains
blowing in from the bard bird melodies
that sounded so certain.
I picked up an emptied expired prescription vial
a remembrance of all the ways
small children finished your smile.
Iíve reached small spaces
Endured trouble-free trenches
And now through your everything
From your underwear drawer
on out to your tree swing.
There I remember you saying
Life is so fascinating.
Where indeed it may be
Whence your despondent heart is freed
Suffice to say we could forecast it
Nevertheless it could have lasted
Iíll always run my fingers through your golden tresses
As long as my heart attains as it wishes
But thereís no sense in playing a broken 45
This sing song of monotony has encored to cry
And there is no use watering a daisy
That has chosen to die.