It’s a granite bench that I frequent Your name carved in stone; eternal It’s the ink over my ribs. A barrier to protect our vulnerable hearts You used to tease me for my love of symbolism How could we have known?
I’ve been reading up on Dickenson I’ve been keeping my room a mess I’ve been seeing you in my dreams
I talk with you there, but I still can’t talk with you here
On this granite bench that I frequent I kiss your name in stone; eternally it lingers for you there The next time I return, it remains, unclaimed and cold
What was protecting your heart? Was it that through which the bullets tore? Two to the chest, that’s all I’ve been told. No CPR preformed. ****** up thought, I know.
I cut my bangs after your funeral It was a poor choice As we both could have predicted. You would have laughed and kissed me all the more. They’ve grown out now
During the time it took for them to grow, I hated the sunset How could something so beautiful exist in the same world that kicked you out so soon? How could I find peace in that?
And, I was ****** the moment that it did It’s not a habit that I frequent But none the less, that night I did How could I have known? A symphony of blinds clacking in the wind, A leaky air mattress’s hiss, crickets that sounded ****** And I couldn’t move So I just listened, and composed, and All the while you bled, your heart stopped Your last breath
I just laid there, ******, arms spread wide, eyes fixed Maybe like you, I suppose? ****** up thought I know.
So, I offer a kiss to your name, carved in stone I leave it there But I know It will just grow cold And my ink itches me, over my ribs, over my heart