Heart in my hand, My stomach clogs my throat.

Head’s not resting between my shoulders.

It has gone far away, shaking its gray matter

As it stares

At the sorry state that I am in.

And all because I stayed in front

Of the door you closed on my face.

Now, instead of your soft lips,

My cheek rests on wood.

Grain mixes with wet salt.

I will my feet to walk away

But it is jelly on your paved doorstep.

What a night.

AnjCP 2017