A bird by my window
made a tweet— then was crossed out;
becoming X… right after I cried myself
to sleep; tears sinking through water
like explaining yourself to an ex.
She catches Z’s— I catch feelings.
Cupid shot white arrows; and missed clean.
“Dearly, you’ll be missed,”
so said his Miss.
Trauma stays amiss; little snow hands—
cold enough to feel like mine.
Then came you… softly.
Painting calmer colours over all my rough
drafts; telling my hands they were made
for more than holding grief.
Writing beauty across your body, like poetry
maybe I finally found a better reason
to breathe.
Feet touching water— a perfect picture
tide-drawn; your skin fine like sand,
my sole slow-walking back to soul.
Maybe that bird
by my window was never loss at all—
just one love flying away…so my Lovebird
could arrive.