your letters are full of small talk and reason. she weighs her stones.
someday she might stop turning to you, but now
there are no secret places left in her
and your eyes are so blue, blue, the color of
that last breath before nirvana;
and somewhere in the fence of her smile
is a broken link that lets them all in,
slackjawed with lust. or liquor.
on the colder nights, the desperate ones will call it love.
-- if she is virginia then you are the river. hungry.