Schadenfreude (Memory)

John James

        Drunk again. You do the math. You wanted
                          happiness and I can't blame you for that. I wanted

to tell this story without having to confess
                  the water stains on the ceiling remind me
                                                                          of shedding your clothes.

        Darling, I gave you my hands. I gave you
                         my truer self on a platter and in return you
gave me nothing. I remember a night when
                                                      the air tasted of gravel and you told me
                                    it didn't matter, you wanted to keep
                                                                          talking about something
         until the dawn broke through. Somehow we
                                                    pulled it all together to watch
sunlight bleed over trees.

        Tonight I follow your logic as a stranger in a small town
                                      probing your assertions like in-lines on a map.
I farm the spaces of your body for something familiar.
                                     I chase you into the street. I search
                                                                        the parking lot for your car
         but your headlights never show.
                                                                        Your lips move and I can't
hear what you're saying.

                                         The sun falls in around your hair.