Balloon Sandwich

I went over our conversation
with a fine-toothed gland.
It was a game of immovable stomachs.
I choose to remember the coffee
because a painting is the lie
that tells the truth.

Where are you now, my sweet
misunderstanding?
Standing in a vacuum cleaner
that moves from vacuum
to vacuum?

Why did we not grip that sandwich tighter
to give a little flavor
to the memory?
Why didn't we do it
again?

The quiet fills my head
like warm whispers ballooning.
Too bad I'm so
thin-skinned.

early 70s