I’m sure you want to go where the brisk wind blows.
Take your magic carpet back east
and float into a memory you miss of me.
While you’re staring at the ceiling,
watching the fan circle itself,
remember me when the clock strikes three o’clock.
I’ve been in your back pocket,
clinging to the day you agreed to wed after med school.
You lost your footing on the slick grass,
and the rain swept the ground from under your dress
as gravity slapped your back into a puddle,
cracking a cackle through your lips.
Later I sipped wine off her belly button,
and she tasted just fine.
(© 2022 AC)