i've searched for your love on
every sidewalk curb.
waltzed along empty roads at midnight.
acquainted with the candle light
instilled within street lamps.
begging ever stranger for pocket change,
they never had.
and i've danced with wine,
fading into my cherry lips
the bitter taste flirting in the back of my throat.
until my mind was scattered in pieces
i threw across the bathroom floor,
but didn't bother to pick up the
next morning.
& i never found it,
eight years later and your love
is like waiting for snow to fall in july,
it's always felt like an empty gaze
out the window,
after an illusion to the ears,
the tires against the pavement,
only for my iris to
release sapphire pools of
disappointment,
because eight years later,
and your love is still a question,
that i've never asked,
because i already know the answer,
*you're not coming home