Charon’s Obol

forgoing the cypress

and the trip to calabasas -

the steady certitude

of wanting and saying

we were “needing”

of each other.

it's almost funny now -

the bits of you on

my carpet and in the

closet, the trimmings

of my green on your floor.

a telos untethered,

an us undone.

once, you lit me up -

gold and platinum

and menthols.

you told me secrets

of your seauton.

and i sucked on your

words like olives,

kalamon and salt, til

i spit the seeds out

and silenced them,

with the sole of my boot.

open your mouth, you said

give me your tongue

so i might taste

you, and i’d obeyed

only for obol,

only to meet my end

on this pitiful skiff.