If i had another glass-- but it’s supposed to last until monday
then i’d fill you full of words-- even if i must drink it on friday
and sip down the spout each flux-- you’re right, that is a bad metaphor
i wish you’d pour it for me-- but into the drain, my mouth
and salivate, “salve,” Elmira.
You’re leaving so soon? But i had an empty carton and a bowl
of cereal.
i’m saying
a sandwich without bread-- STAY!
I can’t make you, and not even if i wanted to
could i hold you-- with my shaking hands
the bottle tips-- it’s monday again
and the blazer stays ahook.
maybe our cask stays empty.
maybe the wheelbarrow full of earth.
and who knows-- when’s the next time that i’ll see you?