Sonnet in Palm Springs

We ate a Kentucky hot brown and we

Thought of love as songs in all of the trees

But we were stationed at a motel 6

And isn’t this the end of all fine things;

This two of us depending on the one

And isn’t dependency just empty

Rustling of the leaves or simply none

Or I can barely even find my hands

Without your own on mine. Superfluous me,

Barely learning about my own shadow

And kicking the tin can away from us

And snapping the lilac’s stem above you.

But I was satiated on my own terms

And begun to sing my very own song.