You play a better game than me
It's fair to say, it's plain to see
In terms of distraction
You're better at pretending
That I'm not always there
A silent flare

Radio silence
We don't acknowledge
But I don't need you to
I know I'm a patient pin
Sitting just under your skin

I'm waiting for you to break
To bend, to blow
The process is slow
But the finale will be
The greatest show

How long will you last?
How long before you cave?
Resistance is futile
Give me your attention
It's all that I crave.

I am caught, in your eye,
and I drown, in your tectonic wave.
You rattle, intimately,
for me, and shake...

You shift,
minutely,
soundlessly,

collapsing, into sprawling patterns,
into formulaic strains, of madness.
Then you madden, me, as you cascade,
into beautiful, and brilliant shades:

Your Rorschach mosaics,
in prismatic hues.
Each gemlike, facet, of YOU, that is you...

Burning out my gaze,
with your radiance,
as you irradiate...

I'd give anything...to label each color,
that infuses, your face...

Scattering trickles of light,
and roseate shapes...

as if your soul,
were a treasure trove,
of the most precious jewels.

Your vibrant emeralds...
your smoky citrines...
your sapphire blues...
your ruby reds,
and your royal amethysts, too

You twist, in my hands...
and, under the light,
I turn, and return, too,
if only to seek,
a fleeting glimpse...of you.

. (or: the slow mercy of being forgotten) .

I keep the lights dim now—
not out of mood,
but because shadows are gentler
when you no longer belong to the future.

The watch still doesn’t tick.
I wear it anyway.
Not to remember time,
but to remind myself I once commanded it.

His coat is still here,
draped over the back of the chair
like an exhale that forgot to finish.

Some nights I sleep beside it.
It doesn’t smell like him anymore.

I replay our first conversation like a hymn
missing half its words.
I remember what I said.
I don’t remember if I meant it.

The bed is quieter than it should be.
Not empty—just echoing
with choices I let make themselves.

I heard he’s moved on.
Young lover, new city,
same crooked smile
twisting someone else’s orbit.

And good.
Let him become legend
in someone else's story.
I already built a temple
he burned into blueprint.

I tried to write him a letter once.
It became a list.
Then a poem.
Then silence.

I left it unfinished.
Some things are meant to haunt,
not conclude.

There’s a thunderstorm tonight.
I sit by the window with a glass of nothing
and watch the sky argue with itself.

For a second,
the lightning looks like him.

And for the briefest flicker—
just long enough to ache—

I believe I was loved.

{fin}

Sleep evades
A restless soul
Mind replays
What once felt whole
Heart thumping
Out my chest
Shaky hands
Doing my best
Visions blur
You never touched-
So how the ****
Do I miss you this much?