Broken Pieces

She drank whiskey

out of Mason jars

and sang songs about

romantic disasters

made beautiful by

her rough, heartfelt tone.

She tatooed herself

on my daydreams

with kisses

she stapled to my lips.

I was just an out of work

handyman

with nothing to fix,

empty pockets,

and clean sheets

on my bed.

Summer was spent

mending verbal mistakes

amidst off-key harmonies;

the sheets got dirty,

the tatoo faded

in the late day sun.

She left me

with an empty Mason jar

when the winds shifted

and autumn changed

her tune.

I dried my tears

on a denim shirt

and filled my pockets

with the pieces

of her broken lyrics.

At last,

there was something

I could fix.