to the bride.
on the eve of your wedding
i’ll walk to the edge of the city
imagine you and your woman, white-
dressed and dancing
your hand heavy with rings
like an anchor. i know you will stay
here, tied to her with a thousand
yellow strings. i’m sorry,
says the note i’ll leave in your
mailbox, but i’ll keep walking.
i know you will build a life
that’s happy and whole
like i know
how hard a woman i am
How inconvenient to acknowledge a year after the fact that your mouth is still reminiscing over that illicit kiss, replaying it.