I've bought you a present.
It's orange yellow and resides in the sky,
an orb- you'll never be able to hold it or me.
Look out your window and know that the universe
conspired to craft the sunrise for your morning tea,
the mug clasped in hand, the light bouncing from the balcony
railing. The empty seat next to you will always be filled
and I will never properly thank you for not loving me.
Had you, the wind chimes to your left would have disassembled
from the hurricane force and I would have been a slave
to your smile, never having travelled down the spiral
where I eventually saw myself as you did, eager eyed
and too forgiving, naive beyond charming, devoted beyond reason.
I remember the moon, tucked in your pocket,
inscribed with the words you couldn't bring
yourself to whisper. Every day you wrote
LOVE, in bold capital letters, an invented font-
yet crossed it out before I could read it aloud.
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Poetry. It's surprising, then, that I only really enjoy reading non-fiction.
This is lovely. Boldly imaged and elegantly told.
Good imagery throughout-- Favoriite lines:
"I remember the moon, tucked in your pocket,
inscribed with the words you couldn't bring
yourself to whisper."