The facts beat at me
like brittle bellows
feeding a fickle flame.
I am blown out
before I even begin
to burn
by virtue of the cut
and dry details.
But the facts remain.
The facts always do
stay somewhere true
as I am forgotten
everywhere else.

A mouth swallows a packet of sugar
and I want to go to her
but I’ve already left
the place she remembers me best.

Here or there,
if I get a small piece of chocolate,
I’ll be satisfied.

written on 06/08/2013 by: Matt Kane