Lie on my chest,
curled like a heavy
cat.
A rock in my throat,
trying too hard to
swallow.
Cronus knows what I mean-
you were never here.
The phantom pains,
with pangs of guilt
over all the dreams
wasted on your image.
The nights I could've spent
sleeping better.
Amputated limbs,
part of existence.
We will lose them,
hoping to grow them back.
That hour of sleep
we gain in the winter-
you are hiding in it,
never truly there.
As we sleep through
the time changing.
Some construct
to make us feel secure
and in charge.
I'm trying to put
my foot down.
The time you shouted,
threw a plate on the floor.
It never happened,
but the shards stuck in the
bottoms of my feet
once you'd left.
Gliding away
with soapy dishpan hands.
Birthday party aftermaths,
in which we cry over time passing,
dab at our puffy eyes
with papery tissues,
clawing at the invisible.
I wrapped my arms around
your shadow
and slept with your breathe
on my neck.
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