Goodbye Apricot

So, you’ve packed your things
and you’re ready to go.
On a little leaf folded into a dinghy,
you set off on a great, wild wind.

It’s all too big for you,
for me alone, I fear.
You’ll smash to pieces
on some calamitous street,

or a handsome hotel drifter
will hold you tight,
and on some cheap and neon night,
ruin your pretty little feet.

I’ll read about it in the paper,
and lose my appetite,
and my day will retreat into its room
and never speak to me again.

But that’s okay,
because if I’m honest,
you’re more like the apricot’s hard core
leaping on a tide of world.

I’ll never see you again,
that’s for sure,
but you’ll grow sweeter in my mouth,
with a sweetness that is sad.

And like me,
the lovers of all your hours,
bewitched and inconsolable,
will break their lips on your dark pip.