fortnight has ended or two
it wasn't long for me
but I want to miss you

Days ended and i wanted to think about you
days ended when i thought
I'd write about you

evanescently-
for me.
(patiently my ruthless calm
and so-my evicted excitement)

almost as i have forgotten your touch-
those rough hands you had..
i almost freeze holding them-
to steal the texture forever.

what happened to me?
why couldn't i dream of your face?
i thought i would grieve for you

so why...
days ended and i cant remember you
i thought it would hurt me?
but all i feel is spent and spilled
and now i feel so tired

and i cannot write...
but i still want to write for you.

Missing names in my letterbox— but mostly yours.
And I have no right to claim it, no reason to expect
your name to arrive again.

I try to write it out— all that it was between us.
A love so bizarre, so hard to define, yet somehow…
energizing. But I want to cut the ties my eyes have
to their tiredness— but I’m still oddly entangled
in the thought of falling asleep to the memory of you.

Tired! Tired!

But no rest compares to you, or the rest I see.
And maybe—
just maybe— the measure I hold love to now
is too tight, too closed, to give anything new
even a chance.