when i turn to you
expecting your smile, i see
the back of your head.

it's too familiar
of a sight. i don't know why
i even bother.

shared portions:

two straws in one
glass

a panini split in
(even) halves

one bowl of soup
twice as many spoons

smooth butter finely spread
over generous slices of bread
(still warm)

all begins
the moment one
of us says

"hi"

one time i woke up alone
and it was cold-
                          -er than ice
the air
held its breath
and my own
suffocated
          as it escaped
          frozen lips

s i l e n t

i woke up with
the inside of my head
and the outside of my heart
        s
           p
        i
           l
              l
           i
         n
          g
                         out
onto the hard cot and
it was like
                          i was screaming

silent w h i t e screams
in my misery

alone.

but then someone came
with a warm blanket
     wrapped it around me
     gave me a warm mug of
     tea
and also

a black
box

so i threw everything away
and the box was
          heavy, but i
             haven't seen it since

       i wrapped myself tighter
       under the blankets
   retreated back
with my
steaming tea
and i couldn't see anyone
      but

i could feel
       His gentle stroke on my cheek
                        as i breathed
                 softly
           back
       to
sleep

every dusk

the Sun falls
willingly

and from its death
the moon will rise:
so we can

see its light
and give firsthand accounts
of the Sun's beauty

without going
blind



i'm no longer afraid
of the dark.