I’ll always remember the warm breaths of sunlight,
Dripping like honey over
Your mother’s dying plants in glass bottles on the windowsill
Of the kitchen where you wrapped your arms around my waist
My hand holding a silicone spatula, navigating
An egg on a pan. Sizzling, each hiss a whisper into
The room, telling us to hold on tighter to this moment.
I really don’t like eggs, I reasoned with you
You tell me these are perfect, that you
Make them just right. i wonder if you remember
Teaching me to cook them just over medium
The whites are cooked and the centre’s still soft
How do you flip an egg quick enough that it
Won't slip, but slow enough that the yolk won’t break.
How do you end a soul tie quick enough that
One of us won’t die, but slow enough that it won’t haunt me
It haunts me.
And i still make my eggs the same way,
no sunlight
Freckling our skin because i stand here alone
I still feel the phantoms of your hands on me, the scraping
Screeching noise of a metal spatula
The ghost of your cologne on my collar.
But I get it just right too. I can do it without you, and it’s better
I tell myself
But i know it’s not the same.
I wonder one day
When i meet someone who gets me just right
Who is better for me than you were
Will I make his eggs over medium? Or will my eyes dart
And fingers twitch
Searching for the best way to
Run away quick enough that
I won’t watch him cry, but slow enough that
He won’t haunt me
The same way you do.
