Your water glass hasn't moved--couldn't
move it after
you left. Sitting where you sat,
trying to make stills in my still-less head
trying to see myself without my glasses
I drank every drop of tea
after it had gone cold
& thought of the taste
of it you might have tasted
in my mouth.
Luckily I'll be there--in your mouth--
for months.
He, she, it, we are dancing
in between each of
our teeths.
Patronizing and saint-like
as you promised something
like I didn't already know the way it burns
when I watch you leave. I've been here.
I'll always have the note
and the noose on my throat
because a circular part of my
unclassified structure of actualizing
believes in destiny
& I wonder when I see you
if maybe mine is
a one-way street
that dead ends at the
highway of you
without an on ramp.
The phone call I will always be waiting for
is ringing like a bell
against the click of your turn signals
and the burnt out tail light
and the smell of cigarettes
you always managed
to leave on
my hands.
It cannot get much better
when you leave me with
my thoughts
and they are all that
has ever kept me
from you
