was there ever a time that i didn't love you?
i always have:
in the kisses neatly lined down my shoulders,
to where your fingers dug
and buried their bones.
in the epilogue: an afterthought at the bus stop
where i recede and float with the rest of your memories:
a lonely ghost that follows you home —
reaches for your hand,
traces the apollo line,

then lets go.

was there ever a time that i didn't love you?
i always have:
in microdoses of longing on rose gold floors.
in october's sunglow,
dripping away like melting flames —
burning, but not enough to numb.
in the doleful chatters of the dusk.
in the darkness, we are not lovers —
we are merely the envy of poems,
the ones i couldn't write several selves ago —
but all of them have loved you one way or another,
this i confess.
distorted and quiet.
desperate and clear.

in all forms remanent.
in all forms alive
in all forms, yours.

was there a time i didn't love you?
i guess i always have.