Conditions of Surrender

This is it. The seeds I spit after chewing the melon. There was yeast in his grin as he sniffed. Wine in every conversation. A poker face in every word.

The are souvenirs. Prizes to win. From burst balloons. Yawning plastic mouths. Laughing as we kill them.

I don't want tomorrow. Don't want tonight. The wilted leaves of circumstance prying forget me's loose . Stale petticoats blossoming through unworn dresses. Effortlessly we time the decision to prove we're right.

Drowning in his Mick Jagger smiles I wondered if he knew at all how lonely he was.

If he'd ever know all that he'd lost.