drug of choice

These words rattle around, as words do,

flirting with capture, and I am chasing them with my net extended,

half heartedly.

I have made an empty space for them,

kept a light on and a key

in the place where we agreed we would leave one.

I feign indifference

it is an old but effective ruse.

I have

declared a moratorium

on all unfinished and

begun things,

for just a week or so more

of the last days of summer and I am

becoming a flower

soaking them in,

and getting high off of peanut butter and honey

on white bread

at two o’clock in the morning.