Tuesday night and
you've accepted
the proposal, yet
under the chandelier
of mistaken fireflies
you half-smile,

a drawn curtain
that I can read
enough to worry,
to feel
the body
move away.

The rest of the night
is a sharp nerve,
& gray fingers
of a fog slip
down the street,
thin and ashamed.

What you call
imagination, Dear
I simply call it
memory

if they say a one-word poem,
i'll write your name...

Your happy then your sad,
Your joyful then your mad.
You laugh then you cry,
You smile then you lie.

You marry before you cheat,
You drink before you beat.
You give before you steal,
You were never truly real.

You mind your steps
   after you've stumbled.
You miss your home
   after you’ve left it.
You value your health
   after you’ve been sick.

But you can’t enjoy life
   after you died.