I remember chablis dreams and the clutter of Apartment 23.
Under the dust, I kept years, excuses, and joys
And reveled in the fact that those small years could still excuse such joy.
There, the apartment brought to a heavenly head
An open heart's last, desperate pump,
And I, made of that useless lump, a ship in a bottle
To set sail,
To drink the saltwater and remember how dry I was.
When I did, shock besieged me,
Though not as shocking as the returning beat
Of a heart I long thought dead meat.
That place still exists, a hovel on a distant shore
That visits me in chablis dreams, though they are few and far-between now:
Better for a consistent pulse.
And I remember:
The best places, you keep forever,
But they never keep you.