the world ends: it looks like an empty bed,
sheets running under your body the night before,
a faux lace dress caught in aventurine nails —
it fits like a memory, clings like an emptiness worn well.
together, we turned our backs on the saints,
but i pray to them like i haven't
forgotten a word; surely,
a plea is bound to keep you here
just long enough for me to forget:
the world ends: it looks like the corner table
where i last saw you; i pocket
my dizzying daydreams from across the street
and walk past a wormhole.
the world ends: it looks like wounded lips — pink daffodils
drunk on the slight touch of our fingers;
nothing heals from this.
new lovers will zip my skin open so carefully, with their
untainted hands
and find you buried; i never loved you
is all i say.
the world ends: it looks like a forgotten year
and some souls are always the first ones to leave
but i empty my veins, dredge up relics of your presence —
it still leaves me
disconcerted, breathless;
i pour my love in a letter, in paper flowers
and my tainted hands still find you buried:
a secret i can never keep
so i let you go
is all i say.
