Today I woke up
and you were still in my bed.
Blue walls against purple hair
trying to force themselves
into being complimentary.
I don't understand how
"non-monogamy" works
but I've always hated contradictions
and the way I buy flowers just to watch them die.
I should've learned by now
that people fly away
and birds leave in the morning
and I can't keep losing myself
in the palms of another person
like I'm praying for a baptism
or a cup of coffee.

----

Sunday mornings should exist in the thesaurus
under chiaroscuro
or broken glass
or the shedding of the uterine lining, see:
"letting go of dead things".
When you left, you took your purple with you.
Brooklyn got off her knees and got on with the day.
I laid in bed and watched the pigeons on my windowsill
mistaking the blue walls for sky.