dear Clara,

i’m stuck on the image of you
last week, asleep at the window.
just before you dozed off, you said
            so serene in the sunlight
and you ended up with this
goofy tan line on your neck,
from the choker i gave you.
you stood in the mirror to see —
i think the way you put it was
            looks like i’ve been hung
            by the world’s gentlest
            executioner
and we laughed, quietly, about being
hung with strands of leftover ribbon,
the craft store clearance scraps.

thought of you because
while i was driving home, that
fugees song — about killing me softly
with whatever — came on the radio
and i had to pull over to laugh.

please give your turtles a kiss for me (even though they stink),
Aidan