You texted me
that you wanted
to say goodbye.

Yet, I’ve been
saying goodbye
to you for the
past 21 days.

At night when
I’m alone and
can’t sleep.
When I wake up
and remember again.
Whenever anyone
asks about you.
When moving out
of my room because
it was built for two
and just reminds me of you.
When I’ve had
a good day and
want someone to
share it with.

We spent 17
hours saying goodbye.
We sat in my room
with an elephant
until there wasn’t
enough room so we
walked  on eggshells
around the lake,
played at the park
with clouds over our
heads watching lightening
dance in the distance.
Went to the pub and
cheered to a year full
of great memories.



After all of that
I still have to
say goodbye
to you.

I have to go
to all the places
we’ve made memories,
taking the paths
we took
like pushing
the ancestor
rock down
a mountain.

For 45 days
I couldn’t stop
saying goodbye
to you until you
said it to me.

Instead of living
in your goodbye,
I can live for
someone else’s
hello or mine
every night to
the moon.

You showed
me your true colors
so I used you  
as pigment on an
already messy canvas,
because it’s my turn
to do the manipulating.

I wish my hands
were big enough
to sculpt mountains.

My own masterpiece
cannot hurt me.
I’m no longer
afraid of you.
I can no longer miss you
or be hurt by you.

Maybe you should
have used me
more beautifully.
But it’s okay
because I needed
the material.

You broke the ice
the way you broke us,
with the moon.

Rarely full and
partly hidden only
seeing one side, yours.

Sometimes still,
solely silent
in distance.

Bright but barren
and bleak.

Never illuminating
but reflecting what
it dies to let shine,
disappearing to reappear
and take breath.

Always moving but
always there,
pushing and pulling,
highs and lows,
redefining its lines
and everything it touches,
even us.

There is underneath my tongue,
underneath the small fold extending from
The floor of the mouth, in between flesh and bone,
a small mass of tissue, which is my tumor.

This mass, of untraceable origin,
does not cause pain, or anguish,
is not evil, is not lethal.
Still it grows
Ever so slightly, it grows
And weighs.

I am reminded of my tumor,
every now and then,
whenever I feel the graying,
whenever I feel the weighing,
every now and then,

Whenever,
I see a strange looking dog with a strange sounding bark,
Whenever,
I see a man miraculously escaping death on the road,
Whenever,
My favorite tune is playing on the radio,
Whenever,
I let out a hearty guffaw,
My tumor grows.

It grows,
It weighs,
It numbs.

Because,
Whenever there's a story to be shared,
Whenever there's a smile to be seen,
Whenever there's a song to be heard,
Whenever you are not there and something goes unsaid,

My tumor holds it in,
And grows.

Hands limp and bodies warm
Legs intertwined

She sleeps on my side

Dark blue sheets losing my scent
Illuminated by moonlight

She sleeps on my side

Heavy breathing
And arms wrapped tight

She sleeps on my side

His deep voice and lazy bones
Tired eyes

She sleeps on my side

Your intentions confirmed
Our love denied

She sleeps on my side