I threw us away in haste
In a stinking garbage at the corner of the street
On the way
To your home.
It was a dark and rotting matter,
Of confused words and unsteady hands.
Of yesterday breath in the cold wires of
Of loud noises
I wanted to break the China,
And leave no trace of my cowardice.
I wanted to show you a dirty world,
On the clean walls
Like images between splits of seconds
Those are between kisses and orgasms.
Happiness is a sad demise of destruction,
And a child of fortune and disillusionment…
Which you have not earned.
It would’ve been unsettling
As the biting of a lip under the glare of old letters.
If you hadn’t been a photograph in my wallet.
An idea that had grown steady and sure,
On its own.
If you only had been real,
I would have spilled wine on your living room rug.
So when I saw the apron and wooden spoon,
Glimpsing an arm and a touch,
A stifle of laughter in the kitchen as I sipped your French wines,
Knowing that love follows wherever you go,
I sat down.
I smiled at your jokes
And told her how beautiful her wedding China was.
And agreed when you said,
Winter was late this year.