Is there ever
A day without thinking of you?
The sun gaps of light
Aren’t even bright anymore
I used to
stare at them and
visualize your
beautiful, beautiful face

I bleed with ink.
You breathe in brushstrokes.
Still, we meet
in the same shade of ache.

I call it a stanza.
You call it a sky,
but both are ways
to survive the silence.

My pen trembles like your hands do
when the colours won’t blend.
We try to tell the truth,
but it keeps slipping
into metaphor.

I say “I miss you”
through rhythm.
You say it
through smudged reds
and too much blue.

We never made sense
in black and white.
But somewhere between
my verse
and your canvas,
we almost
became a masterpiece.

I want to scream, get you off of my chest,
As if I could yell away my love for you-
like it’d cure my unrest.
As if the night air would accept my pain,
releasing it to the clouds,
turning you into rain.
But then you’d just be all around me,
soaking the ground-
yet I still haven’t mastered
moving on without sound.