Miseries and Marmalade
Precisely, at 12:15 - I pick
The disconnected receiver of my phone
Pressing the buttons, to
An old number, notes from an old trombone.
Even after, hearing the same
Unwanted, repeating and stale dialogue
Of phases, the okays and 'move on'
This hour can be, my happy monologue.
The whole day, of things
Grateful I am, to their kind words
But still, cannot tell
That I was happy with you, with us - between all the thirds.
I oscillate between, just spaces
Both empty, as you smashed cupboards
Of the apartment, we had
There seem no difference, to those bluebirds and signs of biohazard.
I wish that could I have
Lived this misery, certainly better
Than but this unjust desire
And wait for illegitimate newsletters.
The best and worst part
It doesn't matters, to you
You're right on your end
For me, now your answer - Who?
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