The last 3 letters of the spring

To see you crumble
To write a poem about the first time I cried in your kitchen 
To mirror your dry patches and blurry faces, fading
To notice the lights on and sob on the sidewalk
To buy something yellow 
a bunch of flowers, a slowly-eating-your-way-to-my-heart birthday card—think sunshine
Or call you a coward 

Doesn't look like I am having fun? I guess I am not.

To answer the phone that never calls, call the phone that never answers, unless something bad has
happened: do you remember the bitter taste of coffee on the second day after? 
For me, it was...the slightly burnt toast, and the stupid cheerful 
“what an asshole” (no, he’s not, but what would you know about loss)

To write a poem about the time I cried in your kitchen, whispering vows
To hear the slam of a door that never closed
To unlove you with a stranger on a windowsill of a russian panel building; repeat it 3times -
so no one dies.

To weep out my leather tears while I sip from your old-fashioned; unless you stalk me on the internet, no longer own a tub, and my oven is electric. The roofies wouldn't help, only give me a headache. 
To write a poem about the time I cried in your kitchen - hits home, I thought
To watch you crumble.