we used to sit at your kitchen table,
with spices and leaves swimming in our mugs,
and talk about politics, the higher powers, and
disastrous events we spoon fed to our souls
so we could relate somehow.

(but those were silly conversations, just to get to the point.)

i  brushed the old leather straps of the
beaten ******* you found on your
thrift shop adventure and i could see
you had no sense of direction from there
on out.

i should have left then.