A
letter to you dear friend-
a voice-
i listened.

your words were always cracker light and fragile-
i devoured you.
the pieces of your passions crumbled
onto my pillow-
have you so easily forgotten songs we
listened to and mouthed , long nights
together in your bed up
on the clouds…

cold,
morning death
when sun wrecked what was left of us,
and breakfast on the table there between us-
eggs copulating on the plates,
forks fornicating, and your eyes
were crying for my skin,
but I chose kindness over hunger-
eating only what you served and
never what we wanted.

The table dances sunday morning as the records scratch their backs against the needle finger of no TIME.
I've lost my closest friend and all my dreams of pleasing you.
without the warmth of words your presence once provided-
no poems will be written!