met my breath

between the sobs, i met my breath

held captive within my chest

and forced inside the empty hole

left when grief came in and stole

all the meaning kept full inside

and exhaled when the moment died

Two Pieces

Walking up streets

of the dirty, littered

city, I cast my eye

to a black plastic bag

stuck to the thorns

of a bush of yellow

roses, like that piece

of spinach glued

to his nicotine

stained perfect teeth;

He's always chewing

two sticks of pink

bubblemint gum,

tossing words around

from side to side,

over and under,

smacking me upside

the head with some

simile or other.

It's a crying shame

that I care or even

give it lip-service,

forgotten as I am

thrown aside roughage

left for scavengers

to find almost spoiled.

Pulled perfumed petals

used to be sweet pink

lemonade until I stopped

understanding or he stopped

wanting to explain

it to me, just flakey

and tasteless.

I never bothered

to ask why he's always

popping two pieces.