Things like hot chocolate
sipped with secret words.
The only time I let a man
pay for my food. Laughter
heard through phone reception,
pain ignored through
phone reception.
But if I could,
I would
remind of summer
nights spent with the taste
of salty water sliding into
my mouth, slipping onto
wrinkled pillow cases.
Years later, with best
wishes but still wondering
which intrapersonal defect
led to the rejection lingering
like a domino effect.
If that was love,
counting my losses and walking
lonely, but not alone. Shrugged,
drooped, aching shoulders
and writing inside the boundaries.
Salty water reunited with pillowcase.
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