She tells me I taste like too many apologies
I remind her I am a notebook full
of archaeological love letters
There is not footnote to this story tale
there is the script and no sequel to follow
I am falling into the well of woe
searching for my fingers
in an effort to assemble them
contorting in such fashion
formatting this jest of speculation
into the peering ideology of self appreciation
She reminds me of the day
she smiled and felt it rattle my bones
I have not ceased to read dictionaries in a n effort
to find the right words to ***** on your shoes
to get you to smile my way once more
she is filling my glass with the words spewing from her lips
and I am drunk on her laughter
ringing in my ears like a telephone calls
from a gravesite
telling me
it’s time to come back