My tear-stained
t-shirt said more
than I could bring myself to.

Darling, do you feel it?
Dangerous words doing somersaults off the tip of my tongue.
Darling, do you feel it?
I feel our hearts dancing,
not the only ones fatigued by the millimetre of material
keeping us from what’s next.
Darling, do you feel it?
Our eyes are saying what we won’t;
they’ve always known more than we did anyway.
Darling, I think you feel it.
Even the tufts of your hair are reaching for me now.

Tell me.
In this moment, do you feel it?

With you
now that I’m without out you
in this romantic prison
turned cemetery of memories
where the empty has
created space for a universe
I’d visited only in my dreams.
No longer can I hold you in my periphery,
but now,
now I can hold you in my arms
and in my gaze
and in my heart
freely.
Freely.

“Really, you have a favourite poutine place?” he ridiculed.
I could taste the judgement on his lips.
See the twinkle of superiority in his eyes.
Feel the scorn in his palms as he slapped my ***.

He took a long drag of his cigarette.