The suicidal hospital
floats away
into the past -
paper gowns
& abject beeps
& red-eyed
streetlamps
all turn into
valentines,
sugar silhouettes.

Being kicked
in my unfaithful face
while donating
my guts to the john
after too much
goodbye tequila?
Gone like a skip -
take a pattern
from my
better thoughts
& drag the
needle across
until I only
remember the yard
where I ate grass
& the air
was cruising
with the perfume
of hyacinths.

The woman who
left her ball gown
on the hook
behind my door
for months
after we fell apart?
No, keep her,
let her stay.
I need the bitter
to remind me
what the sweet is.