BONES

 

too often the late night

lonely sinner

reckons a life

in a brooding simmer

the wine recalls 

what sorrow befalls

a plate piled with universal hurt 

she won’t have to pick at 

these sad bones alone

he pulls up a seat

scans the menu she’s been served 

he looks for substance

in a present course

puts aside bittersweet

and says what’s for dessert?

 

2.1.12 nyc

photo: UES 3.8.2025 1:26am