Day 20

I have immortalized you in my writing,

Burned your face into the backs of my eyelids

and thought of you daily for years, why?


I suppose I had belief in the notion that

One day you would want to know what

colour my eyes were in the morning,

compared to the colour they are at night.

Maybe that you’d notice the different

colours in my hair or the way I think

spine doesn’t sit quite in the middle of

My back and so I’m always bending to the left.

Maybe you would want to know all the

things that I know about you, what photos

I keep by my bed or what drawer I keep

my socks in.


But by the time you’ve noticed that my eyes

are greyer as the day goes on, seen the vertebrae

down my body that I think are mismatched, know

that there is a picture of you on my shelf or

that I keep my socks in with my tights, it will

all be too late because that  will be the day

that I finally give you up, I check in to an asylum

and tell them the story of how the sun died every

night just to let the moon breathe for a while.


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