While my life is mostly bleak
You are my favorite day of the week
My lips against your cheek made me think
I could do it again

These ******* butterflies again
They will soon turn into moths
And eat me from within

I will pick you flowers
place them in your hair
And listen to you sing for hours

But will they wilt?
When the days don’t feel the same
Will you fill up with guilt?

When you are sick of me
And I’m not the one you seek
Anymore, you will still be my
Favorite day of the week

When someone else takes up
The space in your bed
And the moths are all dead

I will collect their carcasses
And wilted flowers
Then keep them in a jar
With a label that will say

“Tuesday”