I could write that you
are each shade of the seven colours of
light and smiles that thunder, the envy of sunrises
the absence that defines the dark.

I could let my thoughts
play out upon my face, open to all sight,
every word gifted an ignition sparking
shamefully how willing I am to fall into
step with the rolling rumble of your feet.

I could say that
I love your hand in mine when I am sleeping
it's the only time you tremble that touch,
inconsistent I am the cold to your warm
and you are the eye of my every storm.

But in reality, breathing the same air alight
azure eyes drifting lazily down towards mine,
I will say only, that the sun hates you.

Abstained from dropping thoughts to vulnerable speech
of how it was merely jealous,
for no star could never shine so bright.

I wrote a poem for you when you were gone
It was everyone's darling; I found it feeble.

About how the leagues between diminished
when I stared up at the same stars that lit
the night where you walked. How the Earth
still revolves but we cannot feel it and we
look up, unknowing if anything looks back down.

You returned to me and I collected the pieces of your
heart, gained sight of salt leaking luscious from places
whose ignorance of existence naively I was blessed
heard words I would rather have remained unspoken.

Loathed speech fell like cumbersome bricks from
my tongue to yours, decisions took in absence
causing tectonic plates to clash and tremors be to
felt, further and wider than your eyes when I spoke.

I am sorry is a meaningless phrase. It changes
nothing and I try never to speak it, rather avoid
its crashes of consequence, freeze substance before
the impacted have little cause to celebrate
its colourless intonation.

I am sorry for saying I am sorry, but that which I am not
is for the needed swelling waves which set you far from my shore.

Was I pure igneous rock
and you sedimentary stone
both undeniably metamorphic,
look, everything's changed.

Hidden layers you obscured
deposited through thousands
of tiny imprints, consequences
of each a tiny blade still felt.

Geologists studied us but
no answers did they provide,
an unhappy cohesion of the
earth and none the better for it.

The pressure you put on my
atoms yielded surprising results,
intrusive company chipped
away at the outer layers.

But I longed for the fire and
you for other marble to which
my quartz could not compare,
friction reducing both to rubble.

You brought blood from a stone
and so I eroded you twice as fast
because it seems these two rocks
cannot make a love that can last.

I have decided this day not to give a
crap about the machinations of others
whose notions concern me just as much
as I care
about falling down stairs or
running into walls
or hurting myself
on purpose, which itself deviates
dramatically
day by day.

Your hands whispered their truth as
you crossed the ocean. Lying between
those you wrote and those you did not
they remain, stagnant and curled up against my heart.

I miss you, I say, and you write
I wish you were her.

Body shaking, stomach burning inside
to out, escape and leave me, for I mistreat
you terribly and I am not sorry. Each day is a

struggle, yes, but each morning a glimmer
of hope reflected in vanishing numbers tied to
sluggish skin. Your breath on my neck and

her arms around my shoulders, stretching the
concave of my chest and the hungry cut of my jaw,
twin collarbones thrusting out like the tip of a blade.

Dear Seb,
My infatuation with you did not impress.

Dear Josh,
We were 5000 feet above sea level, with a fear of heights.
Desperation fuelled the climb.

Dear Dave,
You were my first love.
You chew me up and refuse to spit me out.

Dear Dan,
I am sorry.

Dear Alex,
You should be sorry.
Black and purple did not suit my skin.

Dear Shea,
We tried too hard.
We lived in too many shadows.

Dear Dave,
I cannot get you out of my bones.
You squat beneath my ribcage.

Dear Craig,
You gave me disillusion with meaningful words.
I tried to love you.

Dear Joe,
You are breathtaking and the everything of everything.
And I do not know how to be enough.

Dear Keith,
Why did we do it?

Dear Theo,
I would have broken that softness in your eyes.

Dear Dave,
Your indelible imprint colours everything I do.

Dear Cameron,
You are my what's next.

Dear Joe,
You stroked my hand and my hair to wake me.
You are afraid of me.

Dear Dave,
I still remember every word.
Every one.

Dear Lucas,
In my head we had infinity.

Dear Matthew,
I was a vacuum in your life.
Together we were less than nothing.

Dear Joe,
You are the birds singing at dawn.
Why do you want me?

Dear Dave,
I still remember.