War in a Pocket

Yesterday,
It was cold.
for the first time since last Winter.

I put on my jacket,
my best heavy coat.

slipped my hands into the pockets,
felt wads of tissue.
Stiff with salt.

I cried when I had to leave,
stuffed my pockets with sponges for sorrow.
kept some dry ones in the sleeve.

I walked away,
weighed down by the Atlantic,
Romantic antics, stop.
Gigantic semantic
Stop.

Found the lip balm,
tinged my taste all November.
Remember?

I reapply,
longing for
some Hiroshima shadow of your lips.
vaporized silhouette
more powerful than memory.

I frown.

Insufficient for my craving,
but what isn't?
I don't know,
you know I always say that.

I'll spin another lyric for you,
out of the cobwebs of what memory I have left.
if that's what it takes
to make a ghost human again.

I press my tongue to the adhesive,
hoping you'll know,
hoping you'll feel that I was there.

I want better for you than there is for me.
I don't remember a taste.
I don't remember a touch.
I don't remember a smell.
It was only November..

Remember,
my memory has been dismembered.
Now a pile of glowing ember.
I want a bit of oxygen,
to make them flare up again.