It's a wettish day
The flowers are dashed to pieces
A cold wind also

The sky is very dark
It's going to rain today
Blustery sharp wind

your mouth tastes like all the sweet words
you did not mean
rotting between your teeth
gin on your breath
exhale
i take a shot
every stroke of you inside of me
is proof
i love the pain

Parallel times do not meet.
Well, maybe only sometimes.

I can't fathom out
why the spine of the book
has gone rotten
in the middle pages

Perhaps my wife, Grace
can help
when she has finished the orange
she is eating

I tripped down a lane of memories
Walked uneven sidewalks
Once lined with trees
Now barren,
Thanks to some "bug disease"
At least not every neighbor is dead

Knees hugged cement
Recalling pastel chalk sketches
Delicate fingers traced
Rugged dips and edges,
My name
Engraved in that one spot where
I failed to learn to rollerblade
At least part of me will live on here

At least until someday