Buttermilk pancakes
and their sweet tasting batter.
Reminds me of when we stood in
your tiny Boston apartment kitchen
trying to cut lemons into slices
that we'd use as chasers
for our alcohol binges.

Sometimes I picture us back
on your roommate's couch
trying to make sense of the
useless television we put on.

The lies didn't cloud my vision
then like they do now.
If only you didn't leave me
like I meant nothing to you.