You were like breadcrumbs
left unpurposely by my digestion during breakfast

You stayed on the kitchen table 'til noon,
'til Mama swiped away the remaining crumbs,
and I have lunch
with another dish--a different meal.

Something else, but not
you.

a distant star in her eyes
longing for a galaxy in his

she was a box of
cigarettes, waiting to be lit
but would soon run out

of light, of time,
and of you

Y o u
are the lorem to my
ipsum.

She was that Chekhovian girl
who fell for Dostoevsky
and Camus and Sartre
and
   you.

You are in between milk and sugar
Something written on my grocery list;
something remembered daily
And perhaps more.