it feels so easy to
hurriedly pen down a bunch
of you-centric words
huddled together like
cold syllables around the
last embers of an idea
that i had a minute ago.

it sure doesn't take effort
to weave you in and out
of clever metaphors
concealing you from the world
but letting you shine
for those who know you -
a blanket of fractured sentences.

it comes all too naturally to me -
making your every movement
into a monument constructed
from love and letters -
letter by broken letter,
love by broken love.

it is so easy
to cheat on poetry.
all i have to do is trap
your last word to me
between ink and paper
and watch you struggle
to ever leave these
paper confines.

it is so easy to cheat on poetry.