There’s one more in the kitchen.
Your Aquafina is still sitting
on the marble table.
I got blottoed and majorly kissing.
I got so lost. I slept over.
The fog was disorganized chaos.
Or that’s what the calendar said.
I walked alone
clasping my cellphone.
I can’t even imagine the stuff I said.
I can’t stop thinking about
those kisses.
Your chicken-scratch on my
old notepads. Still here.
Your Mediterranean itinerary
inside my computer. Still here.
