If You Must Think of Her

I will advise you how.

Trace the bed sheets
with your night leg
in darkness of sleep
in twilight of memory.

Neatly open the menu
while folding her hand
then swim her flawless smile.

Walk barefoot about the bed
while listening to her
wonderful new philosophies.

Stroke her pharmaceutical hair
into the winds of New England
ignoring the sadness of subways.

Remember cryptocrystalline forms
of quartz with your hands and
the atmosphere of her last kiss.

Then take one more monkey swig
moving closer to memory’s pollen
canoodled and scattered about
her unpressed, ancient petals.

Michael J. Frey