I would text the devil
I might invite him here
to heaven,
I might
ask
why we split, dude?

Invite him to a Nirvanna
concert,
let him peruse my CD collection.

Ask him what he thinks
of Breakfast at Tiffany's,

or where he gets all those
coals to burn souls
and his long ears.

Then I might pull out an
apple split it in half
and say go for it.

any word
she sent her roots into my spring
it took sweat and days of work
to cut her down

for me to ***** out
of her limbs
take her naked winter
around

to the side of the river
overlooking the valley below
many days of toiling sweat
to work and tame her

split her hew and splice her
into my roof my walls my shelter
place her pieces as rafters to hold the
cold out the rain at bay

she never cried, nor protested
I felt like I was ****** nature.
She made me home.

For her
he was always the man
on the other side of the table.

He was fond of it that way
so he could see her face
read the shades and lights
crack jokes through the grim times
when on the table was little
brimmed plenty in their hearts
and her tears when flowed
were not of unfulfilled needs
but a happiness she couldn’t grasp.

She doesn’t know
what she misses is love
or a mere habit.

She only knows
food doesn’t taste the same
without the man
on the other side of the table.