Trunk

Is this

in hues of

champagne,

or just an interlude

of grandiosity?

Have I been cajoled?

Spanned like a bridge

between two

mediocre cities?

You pull me in

the way roots

suck up water

in dry earth.

Easily absorbed.

I was crushed under

their heels

into dust.

A muddy tea

flowing through

your xylem.

I want your arms,

your trunk.

Water mains break.

Wind blowing snow

on my car.

I feel like a series

of newspaper clippings

in front of a fan.

Loosely related.

Lost all my pebbles.

Luke warm.