still untitled.

as luck would have it
a cobblestone city
hundreds of lost souls
heading westward
dark street tipping point
home, or breathless
nothing, or north
that which you fear
will always find you
hidden within your mouth
falling from your tongue
fingertips on a scar
at 3:00 a.m.
if only held hostage
in a poem


© 4.18.2016 heather brager

April.

early before daybreak I wander through our house, the
floorboards creak to remind me that you died

I look for your silhouette, hear ice in your glass
and feel your hands sliding across my bare back and thighs

I may never feel that I was enough
our discord longed for the hours and days of
perfectly timed harmony
the line of your jaw and depth of your need
left me reeling every time, you shook your head and told
me there was no one quite like me

in the night I still wait for you, quietly
pushing away your last photograph

I try not to remember the way your voice sounded, and
regret that I couldn't tell you about Jim Harrison


© 4.11.2016 heather brager