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