she hasn’t asked me
to repeat my mistakes
since we made empty love
two weeks ago (I think he was here
in her arms
as I laid in her arms)
& I don’t know where I was
(but I was not in her arms)
maybe back on the campground
where he was packing tents alone
(& wishing for arms)
complicated skeletons
bones & skin that once breathed in the wind
heartbeats made of our laughter
I’m in the august heat of the back porch turning the knob
of the mini fridge all the way to 9
even though I know
it really doesn’t work anymore
& smells about a day old
I saw him shuffle from the fridge this morning
his search for leftovers complete
the last piece of cake cradled carefully
in some kind of embrace
Smoky Quartz 