Letter #1 Poem by Ben Partenay

if they ask
what made me
split town, run away
down here,

it wasn't
the November weather
the birds all flying south
how our words became
nothing more than
smoke, a breath
of morning fog, no
nothing so poetic
as that,

this was a new cold
fear, that wrapped
itself around me,
a dark room, a hand
with a steely glint
of knife.

it was the talk
of settling down,
waking up in
the same bed, setting
two forks, two knives,
lighting a candle
for some light.

can't you see
i can't see
more than a piece
of tomorrow, shadows
of yesterday that
made some sense.

if they ask
what made me
split town, run away
down to here
tell them I have not
written enough
mad love poems
to die
by the book.