1:
it's a monday morning and the sky
is a washed-out steel-wool grey
(pregnant with rainfall, drooling
fruitless little white streaks of cloud)
and as i settle down to sleep
i consider quietly the weight of knowing
there is a high probability that you
do not love me anymore.
there are worse things.
there is you

2:
you have a very bright smile
and it does not burn
when my gut tightens for you
and the sun will not hide its face today
and i cannot see a thing
and i am beginning to forget
how to run

3:
its okay to be afraid
i just wish that i was