when you weep
like a willow.
Not a day passes by
you don’t soak
your pillow.

You know you love him
when you check your phone
so often it sticks
to your hand.
And you’re so alone
like a strand
of hair
that cascades.
You can’t save.
So, it fades
like the writing
on a grave.

You know you love him
when the sun is not a friend.
Too many days have to pass
for you see him at last.
And the passing
is like a thread
through the eye
of a needle.
And the thread
is as big
as a beetle.