Rolling Through Intersections

Drying (mound of ash)

Lipstick smeared I stared at a reflection they see

Without you, I’m the mound of ash.
I’m sealed inside my own urn.
I lay awake and dream when I was alive.

(Redacted)

I sleep to forget when I died.
Everything I’m about, unadorned,
lays on some mantle only you could build.


9.28.25 (I wrote it, redacted it, inside the hour)
Where are all the pretty poems? Dunno…centerfield?