<FONT BACK="#ffffff" style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #ffffff" SIZE=2 PTSIZE=10>Anne is sinking like teeth in my backskin

Like friction with plastic

Like the grey, matted surface of that waffle house coffeetable

It’s that meal

That check

That tip she left

As we both stare across the Formica abyss

This is our last supper

And our friendship is balancing on a tightrope

between her coffee and my texas toast. 

And I’m oblivious

To the things I’ve not yet done

And the unspoken wars

We’ve not yet won

And yes

She is sinking

like the sugar

I stir in my coffee

And we teeter like circus performers

As we’re both reduced to gestures

Like the blunt inhalation of cigarette smoke

Camouflaged against her chest

It’s grey on grey

And again she’s always in style

I know I won’t look back

Just hold my breath for a while

Her dark nails click on the counter

As I stare at the arch of her eyebrow

It’s that meal

That check

That hole she left

This is our last supper

And I’m not yet aware of all our shortcomings

And yes

She is sinking

Like lead in dark water

As my mind draws out caricatures

Of her every gesture

She eradicates kaleidoscopes

With each exhale of breath

Her words

sending a myriad of broken rainbow colored shards flailing in fractured arcs

Their jagged edges wishing to grow arms and grab hold onto a newly born verb or past participle.

But instead, they find my outstretched arms

And my hands are shaking

And I’m scraping

at the words you’ve left me with

It’s that meal

That check

That world she left

This is our last supper

And I wonder

Which one of us

Is being crucified</FONT>