late luminescence

The last page, cloying sugar of

maple syrup and ripened persimmons,

singing arias through the air in my
dimly lit corner of the universe

feet on an unmade bed and a splayed smile
as the languid mezzo is drawn across bowed lips

Reflected, refracted
in prisms of darkened chromebook screens,
long forgotten

a meager desk lamp lights the rosin dust afire
on rich oak floorboards, grounded by the bass

Hours meandered through
marked only by the worried flick of pages
punctuating still air

pulse panging unintelligibly in
reverberating ribs, irony strung in fragility

haphazard notes adorn staves
of neat stoic ink

the rise and folly of lives,
a melody, a reminicing theme
crescendos to a perfect pitch
you didn't know you needed

an exhale,

a thud,

revealing the lazy scrawl of
lined notebook sheets underneath

Yet still,
listless fingertips sweep
rounds on the closed cover
tacit circles of applause,

spotlights shine through curtains of red limned eyes
sated, brimming with unconcealed contentment

making each and every minor chord worth
the final major

There's a cardboard cookie on the table
that tastes like Middle School
it is warm in my stomach as
cold crumbs line clammy calluses
But it still yields to my teeth as I bite
too much stale worries and never enough chocolate
It is the little photobook that is bitter
on my tongue, but tastes of decadent
strands of summer caught on ivy
webs, we call cafeteria tables
A past & a prophesy
of lost melodies folded in lonely books
for the next sixth grader
who sucked on apple lollipops of drama
mouth puckeringly addictive
and of boys that whispered carelessly in halls
for all to hear of the insurmountable feat of
tricking overpriced vending machines for bags of

air

because part of us knew High School, the Beyond
would be hard of oxygen
So, there's a cardboard cookie on the table
no longer mine to eat
warm, bright, overpriced
it tastes just like middle school.

photo: ginkgo leaves and stones from the Huntington Gardens in San Marino, CA