Seven Months.

Stench of new mulch,
Sky's foggy and gray,
Why has everything beautiful
Turned to something horrible.

Hello, are you even hearing me?
Panoramics stuffed with
Poor heroin addicts,
Facing old habits from old attics.

Consumed like wild fire,
You run back home
With a rumble and a light
Reminds me of that night.

Off and on, you come over unannounced,
Windows down, we drive
With fingers like wine,
Your hands in mine.

Who can say for certain,
Maybe you've been here all along,
I can feel you all around me now,
hopelessness, can't let me down.

-A