Breadcrumb #430
MATTHEW D. ROWE
Broken thoughts piled up.
Heaps of recycled romance.
Your delicate wrists.
The love cell brimming
with sacred love oils.
My mouth speaks.
Little notes.
Smoke memories billowing
from the incinerator.
You exit the same way.
You came.
A tower of complexities.
Swaying, clinging to a concept.
When the plumes of guilt hit
the ozone, we have gone too far.
Your chameleon eyes lock
the service entrance to my insides.
Wrap my hands in cling film.
I hike the heap of hopes
to a rowboat shimmering.
On the beer can pond.