how to disappear completely

You ask for a drink, commit to memory each turn

of my wrist, the bottle’s amber glow, the clink of ice

striking glass. my eyes are the curved edge of the world

the smoke from your cigarette curls in a half moon

and the only sound left in the room is an exhale.

you tell me about the dream you had--the one I died in,

the earth turned gray and all that was left was the ghost

of my own regret. Hell exists; it lives in everything I say

lives in the empty void where your voice is no longer

mine. It is your scent left on my skin and in the words

that I strike from the page. there are days I’d like to be

those words-all the ones you throw away. I’ll save tonight

to be all the words that cross your lips, every syllable,

every sound a part of you I make my own.

Alex and Julia live in Mineapolis, MN