The wind slapped me when
i stepped out for a minute and my skin
was drenched in half that time and all I
could think of was the night you left,
with fifty words on a screen
at two in the morning.

My reserves empty.
I poured everything into trusting
and you drank it all, asked for more
with your heart 175 miles out the door.
Now i’m cracked and nothing pools
or builds or can possibly exist: Desert pit.
Oh i’m practically a poem, and all
the beautiful things are broken.
Stars, moons, leaving too soon.
But you know my name like you know my body
and you know how
to say sorry.


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