drunk...fumbling vehemently

nine days now,

Scotch, coffee, and toast for breakfast.

Love made us beautiful

love made us ugly

Dear heart,

I still see you here-

a shape so delicate

Indian fleece blanket you bought for our bed

playing chef in the kitchen- bacon and eggs,

coffee over winter’s morning

(open windows, a crisp new cold

how you enjoyed the taste)

Our cabin away from the city

beneath the aspens,

the place where I thought we’d grow old…

one year, ten months, a week, and six days

I’m alone.

Not that this is me asking you to come home..

just. I. I…don’t know.

I …some mornings drive down to that café

you liked so well, and order for two

imagine across from me is you.

( childishly shy blue eyes, freckles,

buried in breakfast)

and this summer…your flowers never bloomed.

so instead, I simply put out our

shot at the photo booth

(one backwards cap, stolen from me

in the frames, worn for two)

told myself instead of roses,

that’d have to do.

But nothing compares to having

                .you.

The fight,

I thought you…

you thought I…never mind

my wheels peeled,

and alone standing I let you cry.

love made us beautiful…

…

but love made me ugly.

Dear heart,

You were right to leave

Now, drunk…fumbling vehemently

I try to find better words than “sorry”

but admittedly

I’m shit. Always have been.

…honestly,

it seems most artists are.

although now and again,

a muse takes the paintbrush from our jar,

and allows us to work if only for a moment with the stars..

Thank you,

-L.