For the Souls Lost and Found
Maybe your love will return to you. It’s almost November, after all.
You may find a book of previous words underneath a small table under a small tree.
And let’s hope there’s champagne, too.
He might bring you treats to share, like sweet, tasty little breads.
And if the evening is a little perfect, there may be music in the distance. Hums or purrs, at least.
And then you might sit there on a blanket under the tree under the stars, higher than your soul can hope.
Ahem, he might look around without any heart in his words.
Dark and lost.
Again.
Useless and inoperable.
A little more than dead.
But you tell yourself not to worry about this too much.
At least small pieces of pan dulce and champagne are still good company.
The bubbles struggle and push their way down the knot in your throat.
But they make it down, eventually.
And your soul grows a little stronger.
And, you– a bit drunk.
It’s autumn again.
And I miss you.
