brush my cheeks as you hug goodbye
a wispy etch in a stormy sky
slipping past through my calloused palm
you’re a left out verse in mourning psalm
i wouldn’t dream of holding on

you’re a dream now
a mascara stained tear
you’re a fifty cent novel i’ll write next year

you can hear me
whisper your name at night
into the wrong ear who will flare up a fight

who was that?

but i won’t know
you’re a nothing now
just melted snow
a footprint in the springtime mush
a lilting tune by a dying thrush

and i’ll awake with a fevered scream
to find you are still a dream
that all the years have drugged the pain
that the cement’s been scarred by the
pounding rain

that it’s only my arms holding me through

it’s not like i even loved you.