In Lieu of Flowers

* A collaboration with my good friend, Poet Stephan Anstey.

Old Martin Felmsley crooked his brow as
he sipped the sassafras tea, slowly
set words to his tongue, and held them for
almost ever. This silence was sugar. His reckless
thoughts careened through the café window to
the delicate sashay of the delightful Thelma Hurstenkorn.
The nameless woman in soft pink, whose life
he would sip, warm and sweet, until, years later,
years later when he could not die easily for want
of that moment abandoned on Thurber Street.
In the side of the blink of her green eye
he sidled beneath the coffee-stained streetlight
vibrating with youth, painted strong with a palate of pump
and potential. Eyes closed, he lurched along the sheen
of her lower lip, where anticipation was once the boundless cadence.
Old Martin Felmsley un-crooked his brow, wished a kiss
cried opportunity, missed the sassafras sweet tea
and love. One instant etched upon his headstone
a mad mad dash between the years.