Time counts on as
the rain trickles down from
the blocked up gutters.
I wonder if you think of me during the day.
Do I really mean as much to you as you do to me?
I worry that
you will move on from me,
leave me as just a
memory. The place I filled taken up by someone
new, someone better than me, more than me, closer than me.
Am I enough?
I can’t tell what’s real and
what’s just in my head.
Depression or distance? Am I just letting my
anxiety get away with my imagination
again? Have I
driven you away yet?
You said you would return.
I had planned to wait til dawn.
I never expected it to rain.
I forgot to bring my canoe.
The water is cold here.
Words bury me with their letters. Smooth lines and bleeding edges. Sink into my pores.
Empty words and heavy spaces. Pin me down between blue lines.
White stained black with ink. Sinking in to make it something new.
Old words scarring over with jagged lines.
Cross it out. Start over again.
Your words go tingling down my spine; tiny dandelion wishes
and gasps. For air.
Broken tangents and quivering lips,
and pieces of my mind got lost somewhere
around the adjective. Dizzy.
Your words have claimed the breath already
and I cannot say a thing.
The rain drips down your skin,
running over your hills and bends and flooding in the valleys.
Breath drifting in and out,
filling and emptying the spaces in between us.
No sunlight today to dance on your skin,
but you glimmer in the darkness,
Pure, radiant, angel of death.