There are no numbers on these tables
to quantify our place. We sit and smoke
in the beer garden glow, forgetting the
circular thoughts of home. This small-town

will turn you to drink. It will soil your liver
and cloud your breath. She's serving cocktails
to strangers, her hair bleached by the summer
light. I'm still rooting in her shadows,

as proof I ever had her at all. My Big Brother's
wallet is only slightly fatter than his head,
and yet he talks of heartache as if it is
a sort of passing trend. This is an alien life

without footsteps overhead. A chance
for bacon and *** in the morning;
a chance for music and coffee, come
lunch. I have learned that love

can be simple. It is the absence at night
that turns lungs to black. 'I miss you'
sounds out as a mantra. I travel in dreams
to our coastline,

to where you may finally allow me
to love you back.