His hurricane heart.

His desert lungs.

His adam’s apple

and then all the sudden you’re

falling from paradise.
He is Chicago in a picture frame
instead of outside your window.

He is the part of the song you skip
because it hurts too much.

The best dream you have is of

him leaving

because then you get

to miss him like it just happened.
Your regret.
Your favorite mistake.

If you put it in poem,
then no one can use it against you.
Your red dress

and no one to dance with.

Your moth-wing hands,

always looking for the light.
If you put it in a poem,
then everyone can use it against you.
It’s not always easy being the 
one who stays.