I suppose I'm just an ink stain
of a cliche...

He thought I didn't notice
the words on his tongue were impaired...

It feels off-color,
this readiness to whittle your integrity...

A wild wind blew,
it caught me...

I keep reading
our last drivel...

I saw them there-
your words framing you...

I won't fume about
in old ways...

Darling,
It's 8:02 am. Cold and snowy. Winter is just not...

I suppose I'm expecting
you'll dim...

Please, don't look at me
that way...

Quite frankly, my dear
the air never really sat well...

I feel deflated, like a birthday balloon
post party...