almostAnyssa Kim

I could paint him a thousand times and still never know his skin

at his age I couldn't have appreciated the singular beauty of such angles

I could cross his path every day and yet he'd never see

the television at home entertains an empty chamber

digital marionettes with eyes follow closely, accusing across the room back and forth the remote remains untouched back and forth and back

they mock happy ending after happy ending, happily ever after

I sit, alone, flat on the opposite side of the set watch the clock as the future arrives in spasms

I remember his jaw sharp as his

tipped nose pensive, at the rumble beneath his worn loafers

remembering, relieving myself of those still images, so many singulars haunting each moment