12. WHERE WERE YOU

Where were you when I explored the abandoned Victorian house as I did some avant-gardening for corn-on-the-macabre? Where were you this day when the warm, Summer air was like catching a net-full of floppy, belated blown kisses from decades ago, as if they’d been moving about in the air like fluttering butterflies dripping in honeydew? Your “invisible ink” remains visible. I cannot see you nor hear you now but I’ve taken Baudelaire to heart & have become my own hero, keeping myself entertained from the pain of your absence, second by second that has dismembered my innards, my inner- and outer-limbs, pulling like a wind where we once were—lineages of the earth still tracing us, as if inventing our own eclipses (that you now hide behind).