The cork broke coming out
of the wine you sent me
for my birthday last week
though you knew
it's not my varietal
and I understood
why I sat here like a charlatan
waiting for your invitation.
It scares me that antibiotics
won't work when I get older.
Karma will claim me
long before
red meat has had its chance.
Next of kin are notified.
The table of contents is altered.
I think now, looking back:
Three years is long enough.
Darling, how are you?
Is this for what you've asked?
Only allowed to love you sometimes
I feel, I grope for a future.
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