You still eat away at my chest
like a mole finding its way out of my body.
God, it’s been ten years now since you last wrote me a letter
sealed with a pressed, dead daisy
and a ghostly kiss mark,
yet they’re still dying under my thumb.
These days slip by and I can no longer write you poems,
my dearest, sweet September —
but still, I hope that you have in your chest
all my papercuts from unbridled letters,
all my quiet midnights,
and all of my unwritten words;
they are yours for missing.
Must you leave a girl then, darling,
whose only fault was being one?
Sep 20, 2022
Sep 20, 2022 at 9:43 PM UTC
You still eat away at my chest
like a mole finding its way out of my body.
God, it’s been ten years now since you last wrote me a letter
sealed with a pressed, dead daisy
and a ghostly kiss mark,
yet they’re still dying under my thumb.
These days slip by and I can no longer write you poems,
my dearest, sweet September —
but still, I hope that you have in your chest
all my papercuts from unbridled letters,
all my quiet midnights,
and all of my unwritten words;
they are yours for missing.
Must you leave a girl then, darling,
whose only fault was being one?
— written September 6, 2021 | part of the poetry suite 'Saudade' | First published in Love, Girls’ 1st zine issue, SAGISAG
Read here: https://tinyurl.com/ReadSagisag
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