Sunday, November 3, 2013

Enchilada Brunch with Empedocles


He always orders water with his meal,
like how I’ve come to understand his words—
I never leave him knowing what to feel.

We come together, fall apart—some wheel
of elemental lost and found is spurred.
He always orders water with his meal.

While I pretend to wait for food he fills
his absent days though they had not occurred.
I never leave him knowing what to feel.

For smiles and charm, I rarely beg appeal
the hour our ambiguity is blurred.
He always orders water with his meal.

But daylight burns. I quake unquenched. Real
to strife, to question friend or foe, reword:
I never leave him knowing what to feel.

He doesn’t ask for what my arms reveal.
That we will meet again: inferred.
He’ll always order water with his meal.
I’ll never leave him knowing what to feel.

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