Lollipop nails stalling answers,
stopping zigzag glances.
Whispers falling like joking snowflakes,
and too much wine swells as
imaginations go sailing
back to poems she used to write about you.
Goldens chores save grace.
Lacing nude words with a little bit of
crazy, she is always worried that the chemicals
are just lazy. And rolling, mauling wheels
like a god damn dog. Chasing feelings
that shouldn’t be real anymore.
But this is how it goes,
the ghosts, the hauntings,
the ones that hurt the most,
the ones she let let her get away,
throwing hope in their rear-view mirror
while she shimmers, soaking in the past.
A sad hologram. Fading fast.