I am sure I saw you once
before

at a bus stop, your mouth hanging down to the

ground

rain splashing at your feet, puddles growing like

secrets that are kept close for decades, only to burst

open when the dam cracks
when the heart

cracks

open, we are books to be ideally flicked through

numbered pages and squint to see words

words, I think in words now
testing the weight of them

in my mouth. I know the words
that hurt

the words that heal

I am healing myself, a poem blowing through an open

window

late nights hiding with a flashlight, pouring myself

into paragraphs

I am sure I saw you once
before

but the moment passed and
I crept away

sunk myself into the streets like a brick tied

to a body that walks into a
river, eyes closed

drunk on death dreams,
white eyes roll

backwards. Back to the start. Adulthood shedding itself

as the skin wrinkles

I am sure I saw you once
before

but I kept my heart clutched
behind my teeth

and opened wide for
no-one