The Emotional Orphan

Part of the nightly ritual involves
turning on the red lava lamp
to re-live another pastel time…

a sensory distraction
from the time I’m living…

I know the tv schedule by heart…
it flickers blue, muted like you…

while I examine black and white photos
writing letters you will never read
in blood red ink…

gingerly lowering us to
the bottom of a glass…

that never holds enough…
replaying the drowning of us…

one more time…

in amber poison…