water drums against
the edge of my senses
like freedom knocking at the bathroom
door.
i will remain here for a moment.
whisper prayers into my hands,
lips against my fingertips,
as if i could catch them before
i embarrass myself in front of god.
catch them and keep them
my unlikely unallowed
desperate
skin peeling longings
that musnt be known.
hold them close to my chest,
grieve alone.
my mother touches my hair
and tells me
the cost of freedom is high. i cry
regardless.
in that subsequent silence
loneliness courts me like
a
well known lover
and i press my lips
in a kind kiss against my wrist
and i think of marie
howe ( i had to be there to be loved )
and all the risk
of being there.
all the grief
that gets caught in my (illegible)
after some uncountable
time i am
back in my bedsheets
and
the stars tell me they missed me.
i apologise for ever leaving.
they kiss my forehead as though
they were never upset.
my red hair falls around
my shoulders
like a wedding veil:
i reuse metaphors as though
the meanings never carved themselves into my heart.
and i am missed. by the stars
and God, i
am missed.
yearned for, by poems
that forgot my name.
i shape it with dry
tired lips and
crawl back home.
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