Weather-beaten though they may be,
The leather and the woman in it;
It serves the larger goal of withering
That relationships undergo, in time, and
Some times out of time.
I make friends and in time they melt away
As friends are wont to do with
The sweet fragrances of friendship gone stale.
I plant flowers and they bloom
With a tired yawn
Into the darkling night.
I smoke cigarettes and with life
They burn the paper
There’s no reason why,
An e-mail should not end everything.
The leather of my purse will outlive
The girl it has so long imprisoned.
From Life in a Multiverse