TINCTURE
tincture of something
on my tongue
hard to place it
need to pin
it down exactly
outside the world its
raucous self, perhaps
even
more cantankerous maybe
we talk softly therefore
defining our demeanor.
quietly desperate not
to say the wrong thing
feeling our
way towards acceptance,
adjustment
we wonder if this could be
the same small bustling cafe
from all
those years ago
and if we would be doomed
or maybe fortunate enough
to enter into
the same debate
as to whether what
we are eating today
is canneloni or
lasagna
how we see now that
time before when
we almost
shared love
so close we were but
such a gap between us
in our mutual
understanding
of the codes and syntax
governing
offers and
suggestion
so much lost though
perhaps here we are again
in disagreement
could there be
any “if onlys” that we
actually do share
the ghosts of that love and
metaphysical questions
raising the hypothesis that
ghosts
could be lovers
so much here the same
so much that has changed
poems 2 die for 