Walking past the passersby
No one has a clue that I
have a dead man’s watch inside
my right front pocket

Crack a smile and nod along
all the while I keep on
slowly tracing fingers round
and I can’t stop it

Shouldn’t really mean a thing
yet my mind is out here crafting
stupid fucking metaphors of
running out of time

Guess it’s like they always say:
soon as something goes away
everybody wishes they could
realize and rewind

Windows open at the wheel
More than ever, now I feel
heavy from the watch inside
my right front pocket

I slowly take it out
and drop it.

The absence of pain
where pain once was
has a certain weight to it

Like a cartoon
dotted line
blinking in and out

We’re grateful yet we
simultaneously
reach back to remember

So we don’t forget
how good it feels
to not feel anything

Dill pickle chips from the bag taste like
sitting on your couch (too) late at night
laughing in a way that felt just right
even as everything went wrong

You danced a chacha with loyalty
Marionetted my empathy
Desperate for credit for your entry
When you should have been there all along

Craving childhood, you
whipped up a box mix of
angel food cake
leaving ample dregs in the mixing bowl
and handing me the spatula
as you grabbed another spoon

The batter was tingly on our tongues
sharp and fresh
and you smiled lost
in thought
as your spoon
clinked the glass

Had I known
this would be
one of the last
times I’d see you this well, I
would have waited
for the cake to bake

Gone to the store
gotten you fresh strawberries
instead of letting you
make do with frozen
Whipped the cream by hand
stayed all night

I hope it still tasted like you remembered

I know that I won’t ever forget