Beans on Toast

I’m baked beans
looking for toast,
an old lover’s tape
silenced; remember
those tapping sounds
across your heaving chest.

I am cold baked beans,
a stream of dreams
beyond the fears
of finding the player
broken;
I’m broken,
a mere token
of withering skin
and soundless whispers
wishing you home
where the fingers
once did the talking.

I’m baked beans
{looking for toast}
in a tin – shelved
and forgotten.