Our last topic of discussion rests
on my lips like day old coffee...

I still find you in the dog-eared pages of poetry...
in the unpacked boxes that litter my closet...

In the sigh of sequential circular winds,
I hear the pit patter pat of tiny cat's feet...

`
eyes like unburned wick...

A four-winged hornet
rests upon my pasty wall...

Days rise and billow over our heads, blanketing us...
Sunrise reflects our redemption across these waves...

I took a walk on dripping streets
With nighttime as my veil...

The air was flawed with soul-dirtied junction
Unfamiliar trees whose branches malfunction...

I sleep with
Thick-neck soldiers...

Some secrets should never be told,
There's one lesson already learned...

Soft kisses from a pressed white collar,
Tightly bound by neatly ironed lies...

,
making change at a jilted telephone booth...