Room 102

This will be the last thing
I ever say to you:

The leaves will return
to the trees soon.
I hang my thoughts
on bare branches,
let the birds come
to feast on them
as you flop in life’s belly,
oblivious
from night to day.
When the first leaf appears,
it will suffocate
the crumbs of
you. And you
will miss me
after it’s too late.

This will be the last thing
I ever say to you.

The birds are hungry
and I promised them
this banquet.