I love picture perfect, poetry
worthy scenes in my life.
One of those was you in your
sweatpants drinking coffee
on the terrace while I was in your
shirt, sitting in your lap.
The smell of autumn was in the air
but in the bedroom her body heat
was still all over the bed I just slept in.
As I said, picture perfect, poetry
worthy. You in the sweatpants she
loved for you to wear and me, your
rebound in your shirt, sitting in your
lap hoping you won’t run back to your ex.
I never said the picture was colorful
or that the poetry had a happy end.