A Clear Forecast

There's something to be said about
the stars.
There's always there.
Always waiting.
Watching.
Breathing.

And sometimes when I lay on my back on the ground with the grass surrounding me and crickets chirping and an "It's going to be a clear night" forecast it can feel like
I'm
Falling
In
To
Space.

The credenza of crickets quiets.
The night gets thicker.
The stars get brighter.

I become one of them.

Memories

The final kiss
The final smile
The final see you later babe.

The final touch
The final laugh
The final teasing quirky joke.

The final clue
The final query
The final hasty explanation.

The final vice
The final lie
The final suspicious night.

The final fight
The final tears
The final storming out the door.

The final I hate you.

The final I love you.

Farewell.

Music

Your reflection is distorted in the
Smooth black
of the grand piano.
And passion is pounding
fingers against ivory.
Why don't we let passion pound

fingers against skin,
skin against ivory,
skin against
Smooth black music notes
that reach off the pages and surround us,

so completely.

I hear your melody echoing
In my head-
the one you've been humming

All day
and my harmony matches it
perfectly.