H A U N T E D

Last night, I lost your number

while ironically, finding myself

in the bed of another.

My coffee told me to tell you

that you’ve become decaffeinated.

A leftover pizza that was never refrigerated.

I hate that your name owns space in my search bar.

So I raid and pray that I can drown out the demons of your memory

with the holy wine from the church bar.

Maybe we were

Maybe we weren’t

Maybe we couldn’t

Maybe we could

Maybe we were just thick fog

slithering our way to romance

through haunted Winter Woods

Maybe we were

Maybe we weren’t

Maybe we couldn’t

Maybe we could

Maybe we were just slithering our way to romance,

through haunted Winter Woods

We were a couple of dogfighting airplanes,

trying to rendezvous for dinner at nine.

A pair of dried up old blood stains,

washed out with wine.

Refusing to fade, insulting time.

You were a floating photograph lost at sea.

Dissolving in salt, kelp, and vitamin D.

Then, when you departed, you left Ash

where my glaciers used to be.

Velcro stars on my ceiling built a universe

of smothered embers.

A foundation constructed with rusted nails and plastic hammers.

Maybe we were

Maybe we weren’t

Maybe we couldn’t

Maybe we could

Maybe we were just thick fog

slithering our way to romance

through haunted Winter Woods

Maybe we were

Maybe we weren’t

Maybe we couldn’t

Maybe we could

Maybe we were just slithering our way to romance,

through haunted Winter Woods

If raindrops are like poems,

then I’ve written you oceans.

You left home in search of love

with an empty passport

and a portable bookcase.

Now you have returned

with bats in your heart

and vultures in your suitcase.

You were once my life.

Now I’m just dried blood

on the edge of your favorite knife.

Maybe we were

Maybe we weren’t

Maybe we couldn’t

Maybe we could

Maybe we were just thick fog

slithering our way to romance

through haunted Winter Woods

Maybe we were

Maybe we weren’t

Maybe we couldn’t

Maybe we could

Maybe we were just slithering our way to romance,

through haunted Winter Woods

I hate that your name owns space in my search bar.

And yet here I am, chasing down your memory

with the holy wine from the church bar.