today I began to leave my body on the seat of the bus,
so I leaned into the stretch
and pull on my spirit's shoe strings
hoping faintly
that I might feel your hands
reaching
from behind my eyelids.
to tell the truth,
I dream of you far too often
slid between sheets
wet with fever,
and sometimes
my thighs feel sore of running
from ghosts
so I concede to being caught
fingers plunging down my throat
and I gag
on time travel fantasies - but
I've stopped drowning
memories in whiskey, instead
I get high off
the lingering traces laced in my bloodstream.
nightly I ignite my veins to hear you
moaning
and my bed frame
quivers
with the knowledge of your absence.
I've carved the story of us
raggedly into my skin,
a narrative to tell round the campfire of my heart,
where trees parade heavy
with questions I've been whispering
for a decade,
and leaves rattle
made-up answers in riddles.
I play butterfly hopscotch when I can't sleep
due to tsunamic activity
in the aftermath of earthquakes that frequent my bones
as their tectonic shifting shelves the continental plate of you
over
me.
I urge you,
do not grow complacent in my volcanic dormancy.
the compiled magma will
leave you in a heap of radioactive ash,
which will in turn erupt
violently.
take heed.
this is your silent warning swimming in my eyes.
I am too full to hold casually,
marked "handle with caution"
in fiery green,
slyly grinning
as I slip ever faster into entropy.
the laws of the universe are
consuming me,
breath
by
breath,
blink
by
b
l
i
n
k,
b
y
belated
good
bye.
