She hangs low in the evening
like she's worn out from the shift before.
Her golden feet bless the tarmac
of the road below,
Playing children swallowed
into her glowing belly to
become obscured blotches
submerged in the delicate fabric of
her tangerine light.
She falls.
A silent ambush.
Drowned in the warmed cement.
Dragged down by darkening blues.
Before she is buried into the darkening hours
she peeks her head just above the ground
to see murky figures appear once again,
they wander through the charcoal haze
in gangs of hoods and ski masks
and lie in the middle
of the empty streets and scream.

when she tucks herself in-
under the fabric of her duvet
she forgets about her
unwritten essays-
as she is immersed in the
blue light of her phone-
she allows the pixels of
his face to seep into her own-
absorb in to her brain
until there is no room for
anything else-
and the clock races past two and
she lets it
she knows its only Monday
purple shadows cloud the skin under
her tired eyes but she can't stop
talking talking talking
the adrenaline of a notification
is too much -
the idea of sleep is put to rest-
at least not while he's awake-
now he's tired of her
he wants space
she's obsessing
he dissolves himself into the internet
away from her digital touch
to be disconnected

call ended.

the hardest part is knowing
you can never go back
and that's what makes me
fall apart.

I realize this
is the end
we will become
strangers again

as summer fades away so does love,
the heat wave of romance
escapes into frozen bright air
floating up into the clouds until it splashes
back down again and knocks
on your bedroom window
begging to be let back in.

what if I like the way
the bone in my forearm curves in like a sickle
and the way my spine stretches the skin in my back
like molehills.