I’ve made my peace and slept in it. 
I dream myself a dragonfly wine drunk on your bedside table,

wake to find your face paling in the ache —

Linen wretched with longing I grab,

reaching —

(Show me a poem absent of this love)

Starry eyed, slack jawed marionette of grief.

(The amount of dead under my skin outweighs the living)
The evening night a mumbled hymn

and the morning dawn (sheen of grief against your skin) a hoarse rosary under the sequoia —
I dream your breath against my cheek

and in the end,

the poem writes itself.

Adjacent to the sky before it breaks,

the poem writes itself.

Cumulus, cowardice dragging its yellowed belly to the gutter.

(I’m running out of things to yearn for)

(I’ve dreamt you each night)

(Wretched, wretched seltzer under my tongue, heartbroken halitosis)
Godspeed and good riddance.

Godspeed and good riddance.