I.
“Oh, stranger, tell me about your change.”
About the lilt of your familiar tongue.
It implies the saddest melodies of suffusing.
II.
I hear it now. You must have lost your voice in the whorls of
smoke, radiating from their cigarette and your birthday candles.
“Oh, stranger, tell me what it feels like to think of me.”
III.
Except in the airplane lavatory. Only there, I did. I cry for you.
It stank of misplaced nostalgia and other shit.
I kissed the mirror on the lips.
“Oh, stranger, tell me about your change.”
