do not be so amazing;
i'll miss you too much
hide only in places i'll find you
like cd jacket sleeves and bottoms of bottles of whiskey.
now, since your departure
i have these dreams
where you tend to me;
i'm a war-wounded soldier with a half-heart left
i ask through the cherry red gauze
and the twisting tape you've wound too tight
if you would like to share
awoken from the night to grasp a single hand
the bedpost has played its trick once again.
if you were to prop my bed
tangled tubes, dirty sheets, bad food
if you were there through the night shift
into the next day
if your lungs held the things i'm saying
if you smoked my words
what tobacco would it it be,
lit with some strangers light
would it leave you the way it left me?
would you be breathing the things i am saying?
and now your smoke break is over.