Hey,

darling, you know
all those rations
we kept stockpiled in case of disaster -
well it seems
I ate them all;

because the trees all took off their
shadows for me, the lightbulbs
started shining inwards only
and never you
noticed

darling, you know
I found myself salient
under the third strike of future in this hand
and while some things never change
a cauldron, merely a spoonful perhaps,
of undeciphered alphabet soup
made from or only interpreted as
thousands of letters of love
arguably
would change a lot of things
like the order
between similarity,
the sweatbulbs tumbling down this back of the night
and interest
in (and within) this ship-wrecked vessel of clay