what can i say about you?
whiskey drunk and clothed in sage smoke,
you are not a lover,
no, not really.
you are not a friend,
just a body sometimes sleeping
next to mine,
a drum beat stuck behind the ribs
where my heart used to live,
a melody that swims,
wine-soaked,
off the shore of reason
and memory in my tired mind.
you are not a lover,
no, not really.
you are not my friend.
only old crow and merlot
spilled on the floor at our feet,
staining my clothes.
you are a sage smoke ghost,
scent clinging to my hair,
following me home.
# # #
Kate Autio lives in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. She writes poetry, flash fiction, and short horror screenplays.
Photo: Hatim Belyamani
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