I fear the very caves that open like your mouth
and throw me off my boat, in the middle of June
take hold of me, my anchors are too cold to keep
me company, my fingers are too stiff and thick
too full of fabrication, to keep me company, in the middle of June
all I have is the blankets that I hide under when morning comes and when morning leaves, either way I am always dreaming of you, like breathing when the sun sets and teething, 
I ache for you and for myself to move, to feel lighter and clasp my arms around you, like ivy, to suffocate you
I am loose like the clothes I wear to cover my days and add flavour to boneless chicken. 
I fed on your love even when you stopped loving me, until I heard that it was never love you gave me, but young affection and miscommunication, and then I starved.

I starved in the middle of a restaurant that had your name on it.

Sometimes I look at the date and think, oh how poetic
you are, how delicious to taste something that only exists in your own imagination, 
if winter had prolonged its strangling arms, I might have stayed in love forever but I remembed how unpoetic love was when it was alone,
a game for two, that can not be won until one was dead.

How grey the sky looked after it was set on fire, after all that was left was no longer golden. This is what I am, when the sun disappears, I think back to the days when I was not yet, and how beautiful it must have been, for you. I think how your hair was just growing from the roots like cherry trees, and the entrance of your home, could anything be warmer than before I was born, I wash my face line by line and recite the pictures in my mind because here I am, so alive yet so confined to closing my eyes and saving counterfeit bills and plastic change, to buy sweetness, even if it is cancerous. I tell myself again, this is not meant to be beautiful, this is meant to be real.