Second tuesdays sipping slow
on steams of tea beneath photographs
of borrowed days turned black and white
of memories and motivations
and phonographs too old to play
the melody still scratched inside
like fingernails across your skin
like giving up or giving in
like giving in
–
Second cups bring second chapters
bound in leather
I read it back in high school
that was long before I know now
if I knew then
how your eyes reflect electric light
when you tell me of the time
before you understood the details
and the constellations
–
The corner of my eye translates
the shape on the paper napkin
painted with a coffee stain and ball point pen
a timeline of antagonists with open ears
not judging that your wounds
are mostly self-inflicted
I’m familiar with giving in
–
It’s easier to just relate the book i read
on someone dead since long ago
a distant war, the pages from the back ripped out
so no one knows
precisely how the world’s
supposed to end
or how it all got started
–
Don’t know where we were going
I get lost in conversation.