I stole away, with an

Angel intent on keeping 

Me company, for my

Last day on earth

She drew my name in the clouds with

Ink she bought from God,

Broke my bed,

Ripped my blankets, and

Sat me down to

Mock my ignorance

Needing a place to sit,

We built a bench, out of

Broken promises

Each knot in the wood

Melted into a bitter syrup, as I

Recommitted it to memory

We drank coffee behind the

Store that sold my

Innocence to those more

Deserving of the 

Luck they’d received.

Their tender was 

Myth and merchandise,

Final sale,

No return.

The torn soles, on the shoes I

Wore, slid softly through the

Field of grinning flowers, their

Beauty rivaled only by their

Obvious ignorance

Fingers wrapped my wrist,

Departure was inevitable

Wings spread, we soared over the

Blue and purple of the 

Flowers, shaded darkly by the 

Sun’s embarrassment

But from miles up, my

Sight, seemingly unchanged by my

Decreasing proximity

Showed me their vigilant smiles

Had she dropped me 

Anywhere else, the

Beautiful field of 

Terminal foliage

Would sway the same, with

Each windy eve

I woke up, drunk on

Sleep and whiskey, as the

Sobering veracity of my

Failure to keep dreaming

Became achingly apparent.