Please don’t gaze upon me with pitiful eyes,
loneliness is parallel to love—there are no bounds & I’ve been pathetic, again.
I donned the role of an invisible puppeteer, put your words in
the mouth of others, convinced them to chew meaningfully
on them, all to have conversations I’d rather have with you.
There is no response to absence that isn’t rooted in tenderness;
I love you, that’s why I want to shape the world in your likeness.
I am not shameful in my pious worship of you—you too will invent religion
in the death throes of absence, when you find no combination of
words will exsanguinate the lament that courses through veins.
I’ll bide my time in the dreamworld, anointing the back of my eyelids with you,
God knows I’ve dreamt of you far too often—you’re a bouquet garni
dispensing aromas and flavours, the waking tongue will never discern.
Sometimes, I wonder how much of the longing changed me—
the need to belong to you became paramount, who am I if not yours?
You made me beautiful by virtue of loving you, I find your light in most things.
When can I wash the taste of iron out of the mouth?
Why does bereavement find its hands in tomorrow—and poetry find its hands in today?
It started as soft as morning dew / cooling rains on summer days / first snow of December /
how did it come to this? If I were any more tender; there’d be nothing left.
Another confession; I could never find the strength to write plainly
of what you do to me, like shielding your eyes in a solar eclipse,
I turn to similes & metaphors. I rather you cannibalize me
than leave me to my own devices, you know my propensity for
self-destruction is always looming, I’ll drink the hemlock tea.
to see the original formatting: https://i.imgur.com/Gn8o4hq.png
