we carry this hunger
with such carefulness
that they think we've become animals—
famished and on the run.

and indeed we are.
we trudged through woods
as though the light overhead
will always follow us.

we pretend that the dead
do not hear the noise
underneath the earth.

but even the willing
can be reckless.
at night, when the stars are alive,
you will leave me.
the sun will be dripping from your tongue,
but you will leave no trace.

when i wake up,
the light playing with the leaves,
i'll pretend not to go around in circles.
i'll pretend that this is not what you wanted.

because when you left
with the universe humming in your chest,
you forgot about the storm in my sleeves.

you forgot that in the afternoon, i'll be six feet under,
with the ocean in my lungs.

and that we carry this hunger
as though we're a pack of wolves.
as though the graveyards
do not hear the pleas of the night sky.

in the morning, you will find your way,
your stomach growling,
and my hands waiting—an endless void.