de-enunciation
(ah screw it, here’s one of the new ones I wrote on valentine’s day—hope u liiiike it)
* * * * *
I learned to wait,
at first for you,
and then for something else
how / now / can
(or all of the above)
I love you, if I make myself
so low, like clay
pressed flat into an ashtray,
built to hold whatever burns,
feel my heat escape into
the concrete floor,
along with my concern—for
I am running out (in search) of
lonely space to stare into
while smoking in the cold
(repeat, with variation)
—even this ceiling tile somehow
reminds me of the one before: chaotic,
spotty, filled with holes
for lights
and other lights gone dim,
and strung with shining streamers
I might never rise to touch again
my love, you were my all;
so when I look around at last I find
I have not lost one thing I can recall
