Hold** my fingers between your own while we walk easily
On the skywalk that overlooks the traffic lights and street signs and makes us feel like
We’re on top of the world. There is no other place that I’d rather be than
Going with you through a simple tunnel of glass, above the city, holding your hand and feeling like I’m
Home whenever I am simply in your presence.

There was a strange moment
where time itself seemed to slow down
to a hundredth of a second
where everything was perfect.

Maybe it was just
the last vestiges of the sunset
dancing off your hair,
or maybe it was just a trick of the eye.

But for a moment,
there was perfection.

Maybe it was just,
because I like the way you smoke,
the way the colour accents your eyes,
in the mere moments that pass as you exhale.

But for a moment,
there was perfection.

Maybe it was just
because your smile ignited sparks,
that warmed me like the soft glow of a candle
as darkness started to fall.

But for a moment,
there was perfection.

Maybe it was just,
the way your voice lifted my spirits
as if nothing at all,
could make you happier.

For a moment,
there was perfection.
But for a lifetime,
there was true happiness.

i met a boy today

with warm hands

and his fingers bumbled as

they passed me my change.

i don’t think i’ll see

him again.

but that’s okay.

I used to enter the coffins of bathroom stalls
to dance my weird away
to be free  from prying eyes…
now, they are chambers for my sadness
too small to hold it all

they are the mummy's sarcophagus
and I am cursed with your ghost.

I am
lonely

but the only place
large enough to hold all this loneliness
are your wide open arms.

"move on"
you said.
as if it was easy
like loving you,
as if it wasn't more
like dismantling pyramids from the top
down with a toothpick and an unsteady hand.

someday you will choose to love
but I am not the girl
to change your mind.

I am slowly accepting your death
brushing the dirt off of artifacts:
the way you held me
like an ancient civilization’s most precious deity,
late night walks
through labyrinths, with no wish for threads of return
jazz concerts, green jokes,
our staple, our oral tradition
and food always parted at the middle
a sacrifice for all the hopes we had
in this dating ritual.

you will never be the you that I once knew,
that you is dead
mummified,

existing only in my memory
like a brain kept in a jar
away from the rest of you.

This new you
(the only you that exists)
is a stranger
a different person
an un-dug desert, jungle un-ventured

and though
I grieve for he who has died
it would be stupid to dig up his grave
inside of you.