A reading of a poem written by me. Text:

   i.

Last winter you kissed me
under the light of your
favorite constellation;
our entwined "I Do's"
floated up to become
diamonds
lodged in the sky.
Every morning I woke
to a warm cup of Earl Grey
and a passionate kiss
on the counter top,
hoping the marred wood
wouldn't give way beneath me.

I'd even let you look
over my shoulder
as I poured my soul
onto a piece of paper,
handwritten memories
tinged with sepia and
wanderlust.

    ii.

A whirlwind of postcards and
newspaper clippings.
That's what you called me.

    iii.

Our walls
were painted
with verses of
my favorite poets.
From Eliot's
wasteland
to the simple,
beautiful
lines from the 
threadbare man
we met
on St Rose
bridge.

I taped his poem above
the bathroom mirror. I still remember
the way his face lit up when you
handed him that hundred dollar bill.
He thanked us with his written words.

    iv.

We never did come home
from our honeymoon, did we?
Whenever you kissed my paper cut
fingers, my spine sang with vibrato.

    v.

Then your "Monday flowers"
didn't show up at work.
I knew something was wrong.
I came home to an empty house;
scattered sheets and torn pieces
of paper on the walls.
The only poem left was the one
above the mirror --

did the sight of it
fill you with despair?
Was it so strong that you
had to leave it fluttering,

there,

with your heart in the trashcan?

Winter Wanderlust (Caitlan Zufelt)

Here's the poem:

http://drippingwords.deviantart.com/art/disenchanted-superhero-419011585

disenchanted superhero (Caitlan Zufelt)

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Indigo (by Caitlan Zufelt)

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