The grinning man, informing me that I taste like candy,
The ripped bag of candy, purchased yesterday from store number four of our search,
The ancient truck, packed already with what remains of ten weeks,
The bruises, displayed proudly for fifteen more hours,
The eight o’clock train, rattling my kitchen window,
The last pink sunset, the ending of our life, the resumption of his and of mine.
My friends have heard enough about you.