Taff's Flow

I wish that hadn’t spilled.

I had to wipe it up with the tissue,
with the number you gave me,
and a gentle note saying
“I wish you,
would call me”
now I think, I’ll miss you, forever.
What’s in a napkin?
Nothing but those dreams
I had
wrapped in, the
folds, the ink, the texture of the cloth
and now in this stain, everything seems lost.