As of this Spring, the ice caps melt inside his glass
in a fury of noes and yesses,
the pleasure of petrichor usually killed
by a necessary peppermint breeze.
No one minds
the aspirins sinking,
with the days.
He broke up his casualness, it’s more
than a fling or a flight of fancy,
loathing and embarrassment mixed
until turning see-through.
5th floor, the angel suite
aloft the city gulches,
with quickening momentum
a runway for the morose,
the getaway –