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  Feb 2019 sage
Sometimes, I draw on your skin.
I put myself,
onto your palm
in the form of curled letters
and sharp patterns.
Perhaps you think nothing of it,
a simple annoyance when you
try to brush your hair from your eyes and remember
that I am hunched over you,
lost in the shallow rivers that are the creases
running across your hands.
But I hope it means more.
I imagine you feel the pen,
moving with care,
gently tickling you
I picture you enjoying the warmth
from my other hand holding my canvas steady
or that you inspect each line,
reading to much into every error
that I felt too guilty for making.
But when the next day,
your palm is clean
every drop of ink scrubbed off with purpose
I stop romanticizing.
You have erased me.
sage Feb 2019
i adore cold weather.
But not for the fires,
Or the warmth of another person.
I find something beautiful about it,
And maybe even a bit lonely.
It reminds me of bittersweet loss,
And finding the strength to move on.
sage Feb 2019
When you look at me
Your eyes are dull.
they were once a vibrant, beautiful green.
But now they're faded and gone.
sage Feb 2019
"you're quieter than usual lately."
"there's nothing to say."
sage Feb 2019
are so lovely.
Maybe that's why they remind me of you.
sage Feb 2019
Grazing my fingers across your chest is my favorite hobby.
  Feb 2019 sage
She was a beautiful disaster
waiting for you to rebuild her.
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