a scrapbook, and an empty journal.
He gave me chocolate, six roses,
two orgasms; later,
a heart full of regret.
We traded one closet for the other,
exchanging clothing like some exchange vows.
Four memories of love’s declarations;
three spontaneous embraces; after some time
two lives broken:
one on either side.
We lay prone, the clouds descending from their
onto the mundane surface of our lives.
The Blooming Bead Trees of New Orleans:
by Kristin Fouquet