a ghost letter written on the anniversary of my assault
to J. C.
it’s like the big corporations know
I am running because
starbucks names a latte after you.
notes of juniper
and sage dusted with
pine citrus and sugar.
I watch people order you
up front. you were never
that sweet to me but
I read somewhere taste atrophies with age.
it is true
I am no longer eighteen. no longer
calling you beautiful every time
I see you. today I am older and
far away from your salt tongue & what
it licked into me. the mausoleum
of my loneliness. so when the
barista asks meif I would like to
try you I do the same thing
shake my head softly and