what happens when you’re missing her?
through the blush of the petal of the casablanca lily,
there, you see? where the light gets fractured
by the veins? she dances on the other side,
shadow swaying in time with her short-lived petal sister.


loving her was like lying on my back
in a thirsty, lifeless wheat field,
watching fervently as clouds of dust
roll their way towards me.


while eventually my lungs are itching
and, with every breath, i feel the
sting of sand and dirt against the softness
at the back of my throat; in front of me,
there, as darkness swallows us whole….


my casablanca lily, she blooms.


in the moments of the modest unraveling
of her petals, she dances through her
good-byes with an ineffable ease.


if you can hear any last words from me,
nightbloomer, let me write them here.
you always did love my poetry; what better
way to eulogize my love for you?


loving you was like walking into quicksand
wearing shoes of gold, or lead.
like coming back to the places our souls touched
to remind myself of you.


like taking a picture of every lily i pass,
being sure to get the veins and creases in focus.


what happens when you miss me?
does your chest ache when you hear those
first few beats of the songs we sang together?
do you skip the painful ones,
or do you put them on repeat?


i hope you do.
i hope food loses its taste.
i hope you find yourself cold
without me, i hope you
become inconsolable,
beside yourself with grief.


finally, i want to be the veins
that fracture the light.