All I have are receipts
Tucked into pockets
Framing moments and the in-between
I wear clothing to match
And keep my eyelids tattooed open
I have lost your scent
So I crawl under the table
Searching for plastic reminders
With a hazy drunken wish
For you to meet me on the floor
In our vacuum of irises and apologies
and our own inevitable grey
I've built a fort the color of sunrise,
like postmortem veins pumped free of blood.
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