You Are a Perishable Item

Possession—Can’t break the ties, endless
cycles. On the nights when his eyes are dark

with deception she doesn’t say goodbye,
buries blue beams falling to the beach instead.

Stone at the core, nothing to soften or warm
but take as a new disguise to float through the city,

veiled intentions day after day—Who can maintain
as steadily? Too easy to chip or bruise…

Sand is so enlightening, but the commitment
is too long—appearing in the corner by

the washing machine, trunk of the car but she
doesn’t want to take time to know the collage

of peach speckles, black shark’s tooth ground
into whatever it is people don’t care about,

is broken and placed on the shelf. No comfort
in glass mandala windows, all ember, scarlets

etched blue palms shining from center. Symmetry
to show him more than black spaces between

heartbeats can, build up more than they can lose.
Create, then watch their bodies—own palms

turn blue. Try to find a shrub-covered cove in sunlight
to bake his skin into hers–It’s just another place she‘ll miss…

His olive sight doesn’t know the patterns, can’t recall
there is order somewhere outside of the mandala.

Who’s not already fallen, waiting to be collected?
Now that she’s never going back, there’s no use for eyes.

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3 thoughts on “You Are a Perishable Item

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