the melancholy you wear always
is becoming of you, albeit repeated.
I reminisce about last year
about the ethereal days
filled with pain yet,
I felt... like, I was supposed to
does that make sense to you?
your furtive glances make me anxious
anticipating the moment
where you regurgitate your words
your unpoetic bile
that I drink in so willingly
so deep
our movements ripple
our murmurs trail off
to somewhere we cannot follow