The flat is cold and the couch
is lonely. I scrape leftover
rice from the pan on the stove,
tell all my friends I love them.
Wonder if they know.
The sky is grey and a hurricane
is blowing in my home town,
I watch each gust of wind
and wonder if there's a molecule
of your breath in there.
The chemo was too painful, he said.
So now we wait on edge,
tread on eggshells and fight
nicotine cravings. Like..?
Isn't it funny the smoke is what's killing him
and that makes you want a cigarette?
Who am I? Where am I?
What am I doing? If I bury my head
in the spine of a jellyfish book
would their radial symmetry numb me?
If I buried my head in your spine,
would you hold me?
Here I am - wedged in a crevice.
Stuck to the precipice of the same old abyss. Aren't we all dying?
I wonder if the clothes are dry yet.