Break my heart
Shatter my bones
And blow away the ashes
Then hug her
Smile with her
Laugh with her
Do you not remember?
Remember the promise you made me
Your promise to fix me
You've seen me at my best
At my worst
You know what this does to me
And yet you still do it.
I noticed your hugs getting shorter
The distance growing larger
We've grown apart
Do you no longer mean it?
Do your I love yous
And your I think you're beautifuls
Do they mean nothing to you?
Because I still mean it.

compilations of cold coffee cups,
dancing about in my candle-stained room
to French music from the 50's, today,
contrasting with the cacophony of construction
four stories beneath, below,
the day is blush.
rain as rosewater, fossilizes into flakes on the cheekbones, the lashes.
a quick reading of Kerouac reminds one to
believe in the 'holy contour of life,' whatever 'holy' means,
if it exists at all,
whether America is overrated,
whether i rather play in puddles of Scotland
or some foreign place,
how delightful it sounds, as Edith Piaf's
voice trances my loveless memory.
i'm cold. but we have to be.