NEW POETIC ORDER

In spite of the shallow waters,

These hopes can’t swim on their own,

Drowned by boys, men – actors,

Their fragile ropes and poignant cologne.

And in the midnight hour you send a text,

It’s something short sweet and simple,

Finished with kisses, or rather, just X X,

It meant nothing, your treatment is bestial.

Now on the way to voicemail,

There is no light, blinded by your absense

I stumble, tripping tripped, fail

So it ends without a fight…drunkard pretense.