in truthfully annotating the state of solitude, of a drunken heart
lost and faded, i sat in my grainy silence throughout may.
shut the blinds to my windows, let the mild storm rage and left.
it felt like salting a retched wound.
as if i could get on the southern train again, reach for the tangerines and lemons
from strangers' yards to brine the passing thoughts i had at sunnyvale.
pickle it. make wines out of it.
i'm keeping warm, my love. i worry if you aren't sometimes.
you knew that all i've said were my truth and you didn't want to
plate me things that aren't yours.
i get drunk on blind hopes. you knew all too well.
that's the only reason none of my i miss yous were met with toos.
i'm less gray in may, my love.
i'm smoking less, i wake up early on days i'm off work.
i write and i let go,
i consciously make the effort to be kinder.
i think of the ocean sometimes for no particular reason.
learning the ropes.
