Essie, if you’re out there
in the ether
somewhere where I can’t see
haunting my thoughts
just outside my conceptual perception,
be it in faulty memory
or through some sort of magic
or some physical fetish I took from our days
so long ago…

However it is
I still sense a part of you
beating about me.
Could you tell me please
how I wronged you
because I could tell how pissed you were
just as I was pissed at you
and I kind of vaguely recall
what was going on in my head
but even after all these years
I’m still not sure what you thought.

Did you think I was cheating?
Did you hate how suspicious I was?
Was it the cheap cologne
that was all I could afford?
I just don’t know, Essie,
any more than I know your address
or your current last name
or if you even think of me at all
or if I’m making any of this up.

I really have to take better notes.