there was a time (once) when my lover
my apartment smelled
of cigarettes and vodka. the noisy sounds
of gamblers rung
throughout my desert wasteland and i
rested on my couch, sequestered in my
listening to the Dead.
now i watch the beginning sunlight
beam tepidly through my window.
my teabag steeps and the reflection on my
taza illudes that the tea is comprised
of brown rice and confetti.
harmonies play on my stereo and i feel Grateful.