huckleberry

with a carnival balloon in hand

and paper banjos playing softly beside the river

he walked home,

pausing only for a moment

to released the fictional helium hope

of ever finding his own huckleberry …

                                                                                           avp

wasted

the pile of faded out t-shirts

that sit silent in the corner of an empty room

still have the scented memories 

of his wasted kisses, lost loves,

and the absent knowing

of how to feel something for someone.

                                                                         

                                                                             avp

season

enduring the season

where wine numbs the hurt,

his feet push down old memories of missed loves

deep into the coarse shelled sand

where tides quickly wash away …

another year passed alone.

                                                                           

                                                                                                                              avp

jealous

 thickly layered and fragile

she sat in her safe space

framed by the things she’d become.

jealous for never taking chances

or challenging her truths

made of glue and antiseptic.

                                                                                   avp

leaves

with no thoughts or prayers

he packed up his stuff

and walked through the door of his own secret self,

turning back momentarily to watch

 the leaves fall on his bed.

                                                                                                  avp