I missed that bled red sky
because I was looking inwards,
thinking of you regardless.
But I caught tonight’s flush,
rose and plum between the pines
and you were in it
with swallows at your ears.
I’m drinking while you party.
Since my heart is elsewhere,
my head will have to guide me home.
The jeans I’m wearing are black
like the raven on my shoulder.
Every day, I pocket my silver with a kiss
and the threads of you remain hidden
in books of birds and dreams and
in all my quietest needs.
I mourn what you have discarded
but understand both why they had to go
and why each gifted piece remains.
And how could I forget
your undressed eyes
and the knowledge that I tasted
at the tip – and on the flat –
of my delirious tongue.