i have a sadness lurking in me
the base of every poem i write
the core of my love
as i give myself papercuts
from your letters
and your poems
and i sit quietly
in the shadow
of your starlight.

i listen in
to the whisper of the trees-
like a silence that the earth
can’t quite hold,
words that try to be secrets
kept between the land and the sky
but the wind grips my sap-stained palms
and the branches reach into my soul
like bones crawling out of a grave
and into the air
quietly
but there.

i offered my hand to you
palm faced down
like an empty promise
something without meaning
but the words are there
and they’re soft
and you’re glad.
something open
and closed at once-
something quiet
almost silent
but you can still hear the memory
and maybe that’s enough.
something you can just hold
and you don’t need to be afraid
if you want
to let go

your hair is still on my comb,
your scent still on my shirt,
the ink of your drawings still on my calloused palm.
sometimes i look into the bathroom mirror
and remember the mist
from when you showered.
there are small traces of you everywhere,
it haunts me in the cruelest way.
my lips still taste of yours.

maybe i could wait forever.
maybe i won’t.
maybe what we had was meant to last.
maybe you were meant to leave.
whatever fate decides is right,
i’ll always think about you.
i could write a book,
build a life,
form a religion,
from the way you looked at me.
god.
the life i thought we would live.

we walked together to the river
my scissors in your hand
i came back with short hair
messily cut
memories forgiven
and a fresh start

if i showed you my skin
would you slit my naked throat
and let me bleed
till i was pale
and soft
and accomplished
and whole?
or would you hold me
in your sacred arms
in this knowing
we pretend is there
so that you stay?
would you scratch down
every word i uttered
from my lips
that sound like
the way they still taste:
like you?
would you let me die
in thought,
dazed by the beauty of your eyes
as you stare into mine;
i won’t notice your hands
quietly wrapped around my neck,
putting me down peacefully
and telling me
it’s okay?

or

would you let me sit with you
in silence
and know that
we don’t know,
but this moment
is quiet
and pure
and good?
and things
will be
okay.

i went to your father’s wedding
and that look on your face:
i could read your mind.
‘maybe it will be this way forever’
‘maybe they’ll be happy without me’
you looked at them,
doing their first dance,
and i looked at you