The Fly

The fly
Paces the length of the stem
Of the thermometer
The meniscus that reads 102

Will not kill you today, McFly
The future is waiting
It waits, quiet as the heat
Patient as the drought
Above it all
Like the last clouds
“Parting in such sweet sorrow”
Dissolving lovers

Meet me for one last gin and tonic
At Under the Ladder
Our place
Where we threw out our luck
With the salt over the shoulder
Or let’s sit
Together
In cold storage
Men don’t hold hands
But we can hold hands
And read the last hours away
That were naked on the toilet
Desiccated
And visible for a moment
Just as the door opens and
A breeze charges in
And blows my particles
Till you can’t tell what’s me
And what’s floaters in your old eyes