i write poetry with one hand medically stabilized.

When I Started Sleeping On My Left Side

Crushed sentiments and inhibitions
like cans in the sink, I took down my hair
in the dark and laid my glasses beside
your anonymous bed. I woke up addicted
to cigarettes again and left to breathe
in the cusp of spring.

I nursed an excited knot of butterflies
that still stirs at smiles from the other
side of the pillow and bicycle tires
in the gravel of my driveway.

[i guess you know that this is for you. so now someone's written about you. welcome to literary immortality, champ.]