I. Mornings
I hear you,
a distant moan
dusting my ear.
I keep still—
head down,
eyes pressed shut.
My body burdened
knowing nothing keeps you
from me.
II. Afternoons
Your approach slams
the heaviest doors—
windowless rooms shiver.
Your spite funnels
a disquieting chill. Outside
the slow swath of the sickle.
III. Evenings
The ashen whisper of your voice,
the icy peeled finger pressed
against my lips.
Shhh...
a reminder.
i always shared my tuesday nights with the moon and sometimes she felt embarrassed because her light was dimmer than usual but i always told her how beautiful the light was from down here and she’d always blush and tonight she asked me if i had fallen in love with a woman before so i told her maybe because i always fell in love with the sweet honey-like words dripped from tongues and onto the outside of my ears and on my skin and i could never tell if that was love or infatuation or perhaps loneliness. so i asked the moon, and she didn’t know either.
