Cold Leftovers

We sat on the hillside overlooking
our bay of misshaped squanderings.
That was the night you promised me permanence
along with first class tickets, to watch the sun
rise between the smiles
of every hunger fed child.

I held my hands out, palms fortune
tellers side up
caught between the East and West, sipping
the sugar-coated mountains frolicking
reckless with their bowed backs
long since altitude crazy,
squealing like native wild pigs.

I was your total believer –
you had me skinny hanging like a fish
struggling to its seasonings end
our boisterous, calypso crazy chatter
loading the empty
silos of grain.

All the time
mortality was ahead of you
supremely aligned for that perfectly
paced moment.
Emptiness -
came rattling the collecting bowl.
Lovers are born not made; ‘says who I dared ask’
cold was the leftovers for today's none believers

Dry brown earth
for those previously delivered...