next stop.

tonight; we drink our wounds
earnestly, searching for melancholy
at the bottom of a wine-glass.
the memories are only vivid
when paired with the hurt.
words cease and the world
collapse, the throat burning
to call you by name as if a
life-preserver – true, i revered
it as much but it was three
syllables too late. the night
we first met plays on a loop;
the evening sun sets your
auburn hair on fire, calming
the restless tides in your blue
eyes. lonely travelers melting
into the silence of a sleepy
train. no words offered,
but our wandering eyes
spoke enough.