Trying Again… After Breakfast

I awoke… Caught within

the cleavage—

Of my two pillows.

Covering myself in a once sensual

Button-down shirt,

Which recently was deprived of its name—

I leave the room to stumble down the spiral staircase

 

Feeling a quick rush of pain from my bare feet

As I step to the sound of cracking silver corn chips

I notice the lipstick characters lining the railing—

And the crimson runes that decorate my collar

I can hear her humming to “Train” on the radio

Reaching the base of the stairs

I glance at her image on the couch,

 

My mind feels compressed with ideas

My stomach swells with pain

And my legs buckle with indecisiveness

For mind, stomach, legs, and I have been here before

I see—the sun through her hair

And on her skin

As well as the birthmark on her hip

Her fingertips feel like they are on my cheek

From across the room

 

 

She sits thinking, waiting—

For me to say something

 

For me to cry

For me to smile

For me to wait with her

For me to make breakfast

 

I am willing to try again… after breakfast