A Poem In Parts

This is the first in a series since V-Day.

The Day After
love is no longer mentioned, while the black
coffee swishes and swashes in the bottom
of his mug.

The pure white sheets that once contained her
heat were now cold as their color.
She was gone.

They met in a library. She was pre-med.
Both of them intended to be gone before the
other got there,

but the best laid plans of mice and men
were usually paved on the road to hell
and they met.

First, it was wistful, pleasantries
exchanged like the book sleeves
on their paper-

backs soon on the sheets
and mixing into a collage of flesh.
They breathed each

other nights, they wouldn’t breathe
at all. There wasn’t any time.
He knew, though,

all along the windows would open
and she would fly out like they
always do.

Her day came today; he breath stale
on his tongue as he took his first sip
of coffee.

Happy fuckin’ Valentine’s Day, he said
through bootblack teeth and rubber stamp
tongue. She’s gone.


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