you were thunder and i was the ocean,
i wrote poetry about forest fires,
you said i tasted like detergent and
blue roses, i keep asking the shooting stars
to explode but they won’t leave without
the moonlight, it’s been four years since
you said i tasted like the universe
wild, dark, out of control and
free to do
whatever i want

Jeg ser sorte toner for øjnene
og mærker skarpe genstande mod blød hud
når du fortæller mig, du ikke længere synes,
du er min
jeg lader natten drage mig ind i ulykkelig poesi
du kysser hendes læber
imens jeg går i opløsning indeni

The next time you go home,
don't let your palm linger on the doorknob on your way out.
Just throw out the old toothbrush she hasn't come to use in months
and take down the painting above your bed
coated in colors that reminded her of *****, grass-stained knees and dandelion bracelets;
and don't pretend that homesick
is something you could ever feel without her shoes at the door.