The Illusion of Movement
Stop trying to be clever
and just show her what you’ve got
before the tea goes cold and she goes home.
I haven’t any words from you
only reminders
that the you I know
isn’t the you there is
and the inability to
wrap my head around that
leaves me gaping
with sunny tunnels and obsolete footing.
This reality has become too sharp –
but why did we let it get us
at all?
There’s not a day goes by
that I don’t consider you
or suicide.
They’re remote and
I wish my cursive was
better
and that I didn’t heed
all the clouds that
I found in my
cup
and called friend.
I detest the nighttime,
the dark,
forced confinement
with past incarnations of myself.
We don’t get along well
no matter how much we share in common.
I’ve never slept with you but
laid beside the thought of you
hundreds of times
and cursed the dawn
and cursed the distance
and the absurdity of geography.
Your laughter, rich with anachronisms,
stays with me
and echos behind ever girl I meet.
I moved away but never left
and I’ll keep telling our story
until I turn up again,
alive and well.
Words will keep us together 