a sculptor is seated
in front of a mold

clay takes the shape of
a woman’s figure

grooves the size of fingers
make indents over
her frame

she contains no head, arms, legs

gaping holes where clay
has been stolen
makes her existence
fulfilling

the viewer is asked to
take without refrain

the viewer is asked
to own every piece

the viewer is asked
to dispose of what
is deemed unsuitable

im imagining you as a staircase
suspended in space
an object defined by gravity
in its loosest sense

the ambiguity, a pull of its own
draws me closer
though i doubt my ability
to capture light between my fingers

you are dripping
through a galaxy
i have been stitched into

a compositional enigma
dark matter
there are questions that
the universe cannot ask itself

and still
space is your canvas

there are dimensions that
materialize when you speak

i kindly ask:
would you whisper
some

into me

stop thinking
about how rays of light
always seemed to
meet his eyes and
made them
gleam a golden amber
that reminded
you of honey

forget that his voice
dropped from his lips
like honey too

imagine how it was
before his presence
made you feel like
you were water
changing state

let go of feeling
his hand painting
your body
turning it into
art

remember yourself
crumbling under his grip
and the way he didnt even look down
when pieces of you littered
the floor

remember how much
she looks like you
before you were a collection
of broken promises

thrice do the floorboards creak
beneath your feet, eldest first
and every step is a wound
vitriolic and repeating
i hear the tenebrous stair
spiral forth with the sound
of you leaving

and by the intervals of sleep
i will fall forever, hymnal-red
through the ceiling
our wildest dreams fade faster
in the folds of my memory

thinking of those eyes
one last time
wrapped around me

we fell in love in the evening
as the night time overtook the sky
and the sun was collapsing

i think the stars could feel us falling too

back whenever my hair
was always falling in my face
i can still feel the touch of your skin
brushing over my forehead

i was a mess then
and i'm a mess now
but at least in that moment
i was yours

in quarantine
but my body has
always felt like
a prison

i stared at her picture
for what felt like forever

i tried to make out something wrong
desperately searching for an imperfection
a flaw
something that could beckon a mistake

and you said that it was all in due time
something you predicted

i wonder if you were waiting
for her
while you were
with me

its strange,
i can't stop thinking about how
my phone's still connected to your car's blue tooth

and you didnt even have
the decency to unfollow me on twitter

i wrote about you a little after
i regret putting more energy into
your memory than what you deserve

i hate that you continue to occupy space in my mind

admittedly shes fine, normal, completely beautiful
maybe its satisfying to you
the wait is over