He hugs me;
He diligently returns the meaningless items
I had invested in him.
like a page
upon which a sad story
then apologetically smoothed out
to correct the spelling errors.
The colours of all
the bottles on his parents’ liquor trolley –
the dregs of self restraint –
like a broken violin.
We used to harmonise like bread and butter
until nearly a year in, it occurred
to me we’re more like bread and water;
And I’m staring at the door because now
I can see the bars
and the people I could meet there.