poetry 101 rehab: evenings

sticky summer evening
i went,
alone,
to the balcony.
you’d called – late
with work.
the irony
was lost
on you.

i made up drinks,
cracking a fresh tray
of ice and mixing
things haphazardly
into a pitcher.
and waited.

you appeared
from smog.

(we never asked after
the other’s day)

you took a glassful
of a warm drink –
i had already watched
the ice cubes melt,
watched the drink be
watered down.

i breathed in carbon
dioxide
and exhaled oxygen,
little white lies.
you stole the oxygen
and gave me
philosophy.

we spoke languidly,
lazy – too much for
anything more real.

(it was never bound to last)

and we both lived
existentially
ever after.

4 thoughts on “poetry 101 rehab: evenings”

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