Sick from yeastless bread,
I keep my tongue at the top of my mouth and
await your return in the doorway,
chill filling the front hall -
I still think I can see you,
beyond the last touch of light,
past the line by the
ocean where footsteps disappear.
This could mean I still love you,
even if I'm plucking your charms off this bracelet;
"He loves me,
he loves me not."
