For a long
time I
perched on
the bench where
it became
apparent we’d
boil until over,
wearing the same yellow
black dress
(the colors
still remind
you of me).
And I
released that letter
to the bench
of our beginning
where you,
unabashed, reached
into me.
Now, a furry
dog sits at my feet,
stares at me,
doesn’t belong to me,
just like you.
anger is real.