My Last Memory of You Died of Laughter Today

The rusted blue windows appear new.

They hang not as they hung last night

when memories clung like icicles to my eyes

and I could not see past my hands. 

Tonight I can see an inch past my big toe.

Gusts of wind through the bent air

feel textured of brown parcel paper

stretching across the days I am now

forgetting. To unwrap them  

would enlist me to the trenches, forever

digging stale joy from old text messages. 

In the context of city lights I am 

punctuation, fawning in the undertow,

watching needly drunks stumble to the point.

In the context of your sheets I am

an outside source, cited but poorly analyzed.

It is okay. The belly-laughter I bought you

has expired in its open pitcher, but canned giggles will 

taste hearty enough in the meantime.

The final act is what matters.

The staging is what matters.

Darkmatter matters not at all.

To live as a happy caveman is to eat nutella

in claw-footed bathtubs. How easy to think

only in colors and vague shapes

with water barred to your hips.

But agh! I am remembering again.

Here is my old friend who is fresh-

faced and who I will love as rain.

And tomorrow, neck deep in whiskey, kissing

the concrete anew with our arms

wrapped around the ankles of trees,

I will tell you to stop cracking jokes

because there is a very serious poem happening.

Reviews

[scarlynn]

This is really beautiful,

[Penelope Voljeti]

I AM IN LOVE WITH YOUR WRITING!

[Anthony J]

Thank you so much! I am flattered lol