there are times
when i close my eyes
let the world
fade away
that i can hear
the crackle of tobacco
smell
the earthy tones
of freshly poured liquor
my lips
feel the phantom brush
of hers
my tongue
numbed by whiskey
my hands
on the small
of her back
wishing to slide along
her spine
like mozart
across piano keys

there are times
that the crushing pressure
of longing
decompresses
my inner sadness
like a rocket
from the mariana trench
to the surface
with no effort
to prevent these
bends

today

the idea
of wallowing in past pain
engulfs
the need
to move forward

especially
when the memories
are tinted in sepia
with splashes
of pomegranate kisses