what it’s like to live with someone and miss them anyway:
There’s an imprint
on my chest
a hand
as if pressed
onto a dusty surface
in an old house.
Eyes
still linger.
Once, they felt
warm
safe
alight.
Now, they feel
hard
critical
empty.
A rope flung
into
churning water
that
buoyed us
together
snapped.
I’ve never
drowned
before
but my body is
bloated
with saltwater
and foam.
I no longer know
how to speak.
I no longer know
how to shape
my face
into pleasing
forms.
I try,
I imagine
a smile on
my lips,
but it comes out
contorted
wrong
and then it’s
too late
to take it back.
Grease
drips
down
my chin
but I’m not
so
beautiful
anymore.
Excitement
and joy
was once
a spell
I knew how to
craft.
Now I can only
listen
hear it
from the other side
of a
wall -
a martyr
hung
from
gallows
I built
myself.
