"I'm madly in love with you."

"I wish that could mean more."

"Me too."

Tethered to concrete,
enlightened by laptop screen,
the summer went out with a scream,
autumn ends like flicking light switch.

I'm cashing in time cards with three,
Diseased, daring to get off cheap
with three sets of teeth,
crooked spines,
and
milk thistle dreams.

The bluebirds you can keep,
over-the-shoulder vultures--my scene.
Death hands me a cup of coffee for free,
and I have written up to the ending.
I have written up to the ending.
Ending the writing,
waiting for you to compose
the siren's song--
whether in hospital gown
or naked and strapped to splintered mast,
autumn ends by flicking a switch,
while your screams echo backwards
in the chambers of my memory.

"I don't know how to say, what I want you to say."

"Please try."