I find you
crying in the fridge
again.

Among
the sour milk
and rotting greens,

you've keep cool
your salty
tears.

She squeezes
at her heart
like a beet.

In red,
she watches the juice
of her past strain away

Dear Emptiness,

This is just to say,
you've been filled.

In the pantry of my mind,
all the women have spoiled but one

Treachery builds
first in the stomach
and then upwards
toward the lungs.
A splattering of chunky
yellow vomit.
Why is it at these times
I remember you?