Eve Rounds

good morning untitled

what happens now

save every voicemail
not that his tone would have been forgotten
but to hear him call me
tweety
as many times as i can endure the playback

save every voicemail
not that hers isn’t comforting in the present
but just in case
doll or babe

just
in
case
a way that i had never existed until now
wtih this type of
tugging
torturous
terror
without any or all of them

what happens then

a poem about you for you (and you)

you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love

i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards

love

what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you

noise

sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing

the theatre

this is  a silent film flickering  catching  starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories  captured images disconnected nonsensical we