It’s A Wrap

Last night,

I thought I was bereft,

but then I remembered that I get monthly cheques,

for the damage you left,

so I got a bottle of vodka,

and got the fuck on with it.

Some day,

you’ll just be a song,

on a compilation album,

a poem I perform,

in the cities we might have visited,

you’ll be an explanation for my art,

and nothing more.

Forevermore,

as you used to say.