Reader,
           I left him.
Filled a box:
           Paintbrush
           Nightgown
           Three books
           One candle
Seventy-two degrees is an abstraction.
           36-24-36
Or was it
           34-26-34?
Order melts me.
My dimensions are that
           Of a puddle.
Washed Up. Dried out. Gone.

I have now been gone for ten years.

Reader,
           We had coffee.
“How was it?”
“It burned.”
“You’ve never?”
“I’ve never.”
I did.
And it did
Taste good.
Percolated, peppermint, wide eyed, wet.
           Well…
Reader,
           I saw her.