Sitting quietly, alone for once,
I feel the warm bruise of your departure
and am glad
that you came close enough to cause it.
I send messages to you on dandelions
- one o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock,
rock,
four o’clock, five o’clock, six o’clock,
wreck -
and through daisies;
she loves me, she loves me not,
she loves me, leaves me forgot
afraid
that the reasons why
will disappear, like last year’s spicy top notes
upon my tongue,
and I will have to lie when asking myself
what you meant, how it felt to have your hand in mine.
my soul crackling with your fire.
But to lie
would be an awfully big adventure…
