The next time I think of you I want it to be brief, the kind of contemplation a child gives the small brown leaf smuggled indoors under his boot; a momentary blur of syllables before he discards it in the trash.
As it is now, I see far too clearly each brittle vein crinkling fine lines that stretch onward, finally veering away from wretched pain and rage, yet with no certain path.
My memories of you are like fallen leaves, composting sentiments and insights quietly into fertile ground for life.
&& like sugar cubes that encounter steamy mugs , i dissolve in you.