Kafka’s whispering,

“I miss you deeply,
unfathomably, senselessly,
terribly.”

Fuck those half-ass trips.
In spring,
a weekend in New York City—
the greatest city in the world—
then San Francisco
to see old friends,
Hawaii is heaven,
Japan, then Korea,
Thailand to explore—then rest,
time to dress down
in flowy linen,
and cheap sunglasses,
like those polaroids
of our parents

And after that?
A whole lot of nothing,
waiting for it all to end
again.

-

we never cooked a meal,
recorded a song,
painted a bookshelf,
adopted a cat,
made life.
you wouldn’t kiss me,
but you were just drunk.

-

In the summer,
maybe we’ll stargaze,
just turn off our phones,
and run away.