Last Love Song
It’s only twinges now.
When I mix orange cubes of sweet potato
for hash browns, you materialize
with lanky arms around me and the burbling
pour of black tea into a gold polka dot
mug I gifted you.
I ripped out the dedication page from a book I love
because your name was on it.
Fuzzy peach drunk, you sank to the ground
in a dance for the god of loneliness.
I saw the long bare branches
of winter trees that grew in black soil,
opal pools in the dust of fog. Hair glittered
on your cheeks; I smudged dark lipstick
trying to kiss away my need for you
on someone else.
Our misunderstandings were catastrophe.
How soft we made each other, once.
Kell Xavier is a non-binary writer who likes dandelions, books, and arthouse film. Kell has worked with juice journal and Emerge Literary Journal, and has been published by Stone of Madness Press, juice, Elsewhere, and Whiny Femmes. He lives in Treaty 1 territory.