May wears off slowly,
and june nears,
holding just
a small bag.

June:
the sixth,
the middle,
the balance.

I ask myself,
where did
your dreams go?

She doesn't bother
looking back.

"who do you think,
crushed them,
ripped apart,
with teeth?"

i want to stay drunk
off this sudden balance
for just
a little while longer.