Stalking November

A reckless summer, in case

you don’t recall,

drew to its conclusion,

traveling the windy road

over a torn, beaten path.

The house we shared

is home to you and another.

I only stalk our memories

when the weather gets colder;

let’s say early November.

The attic in my trust

collects dust.

The lights turn out;

the lampshades close.

Even from the street, I could

see your clothes hitting the floor.

What you were doing, only

memorizing lies and your sheepish grin

could explain as an innocent whisper.

I sobbed until it appeared an

unforecasted downpour satiated the thirst

of the oak trees.

Through the gust of my low self-esteem,

my eye bulged, and my heart seized in my chest.

She slapped on the window, asking me to

join her over wine.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Twitter: AC0040