Dearest,

Saturday afternoon, I’m spending it
alone with coffee – quite a
special gathering. Your last
letter blew me a kiss.
Glasgow, Texas, Italy.
Afternoons, I’m reminded of
the urge to smoke. Jet set,
moving out, going home, leaving.
Forgotten, can’t think of poems.
No stories, out of paper.
Hungover for a year.
Grad school, jobs, living …
Fuck this.
My room. A drink.

x