There was a place under the bed
for her bass guitar.
A place in Merian C. Cooper’s King Kong
to wonder about man’s tendencies to mistake
miracles for business ventures.
A place on the tip of her tongue
where kisses outwitted cigarettes.
More places on the chessboard
than there had been a few minutes ago.
There were wild,
open spaces between moves,
An empty box for the cassette tape,
another for the two opposed armies.
There was something wrong
with the other box:
the heart-shaped one
that still held a few smashed, dark chocolates.
She put the television on mute,
and silent bi-planes filled the room.
Photo By: JasonBrown2013