You will only remember
pieces of yourself,
like cake left
uneaten, still somehow solid.
And, tugging at your skin,
salty and moody now,
the photograph you felt
as your presuming other.
Urgency is inherent
in its manner of need:
The back in or can't
or couldn't it have been?
The thinking that such
harsh flowers
can bloom
in this hurried
emptied
wintertime?
That consistency is not love alone?
A wedding dress,
hung tightly to a hanger
like rope:
were that
it were only
enough.
