Breakfast
Did you get coffee
these eggs are damn cold
On lover's day
others stuffed red envelopes -
A twisted knife in the
negative space of their silence
Every day was a new
argument that spit at
old wounds,
tolerate the TV, blaring
Grief is the new liquor
poured over lines
boiling in a pot
over twenty-five years
And here was a tsunami of
pink things to point. And laugh
at bitterness and fixed upper lips
a thousand cards, futile in the chasm
The Edge of the Earth
he met her with stuffy kisses
in the dark
and left a fair friend
he memorized her distant words
to make him feel closer
and hoped in envelopes
and the recesses of his mind
his throat was empty
a prize racehorse in his head
and she was there
to say that they were there
she was a bad actress
only in that
she always told him the truth and
there was so much truth
in her against him
he had such delusions
of grandeur
but now they are simpler
in that he only knows
three words
i love you
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