Press me against you
Like flowers in a book

I did not expect-
To mourn you.

It feels like you died.
Maybe you did.

Calling from our home,
Ghosts are spooking over,
Hands holding the cold.
Our exorcist gazebo.

Strawberries and cream,
Mouth is chewing toenails.
Bucket full of smoke.
Smoke alarms enabled.

Disaster will unfold,
Loneliness without me.
Calling you from home,
Calling home without me.

You are my unsent message.
The cursor blinking rhythmically,
With my heartbeat,
Waiting,
For me to hit send.
But I am not ready,
And I’m not sure if I ever will be
So I left it like that.
Unsent. Unseen. Unread.
“I miss you.”

we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

the gentle twinkle
of a distant star
speaks heavenly morse
with my fluttering heart