Grana padano

I packed the cutlery first;

I no longer lived there,

 

Just inhabited the space:

A ghost in diminishing rooms,

Dreaming.

There was a bartender

Who passed over the gin when

She saw me crying.

You and I haunted my old neighborhoods.

We lay under the feather duvet

Eating salad with our hands

Because I had packed away the mundane

Before the impractical.

I wake up covered in Grana Padano.

Thank God.

 

 

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