I wrote this one a while ago:

we dine on coming hope

Plates of broken promises fork scratch on hard life
Empty cups of dreams left pitcher spilled on table
Centerpiece shattered listless life gone stagnant and tepid
Left like leftovers for scrap dogmeat.
“Delicious Winter” they called it.

We make idle chat:
hoping for a white apocalypse
too soon to tell who was the culprit
young sadness in chaos paperback
breeding broken homes
surrender ourselves
empty ringfingers of divorced life

Remeniscant sea of self-discovery
Winds crest where the initial forgotten desire numbs
And reached the docking thought
Validate life’s kisss