I’ll have a lovely, and a coffee
in an attempt to override the
down and grey with warm and black.
Huddled up in this black hole
my spoon stirs words again, at last.
Two lumps of lovely.
If you are in need of some milk in
your universe, kind eyes, have my stars.
The expanse of my debt
is far greater than two forty.
That steep drop
as I dive headfirst into the valley
between your index finger and your thumb
is what I revel in
when you steal my pulse and give me yours.
Crush the down in my neck.
Erase the line between sea and sky.
Then, before I drown catch me gently.
How hard he hopes
in the split second between the bell and his fingertip
for a slow toll unsettling enough to
muster the hairs on his arm.
A new plot pearls from his temples twisted and behind
the door the client turns a killer cold.
Then, just as quick, a dull buzz and a click
erase the newborn tale untold.
Looking down at the cardboard that holds
three pizzas and a passion in pieces
the writer sighs and mourns as another story folds.
Wounded the stone fills the crease of my hand
between life and heart and other things to come
its weight tells the hand not to forget
dead birds, broken vases, mistakes
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nudge and hold their breath
she clatters onward
forgets the sky was what she aimed for
The leather creaks with elation
drawing blood for the sidewalk seams
to wet their thirsty tongue
They bow down to her