my love

  and when i meet god   i will ask him why he punished me on earth by denying me the pleasure of being known by anyone other than him intentionally, innately, irrevocably known in a way i could have remained silent forever   whilst always being heard  i will ask him why the world kept spinning as i screamed and spiralled into the sins he’d laid out for me  for me to fumble in my guilt on my knees, raw from repentance and retribution who is to beg for forgiveness now? and i will apologise to my mother  for carrying her burdens in my womb  it was her first time too, on earth longing for something she’d never known  please tell me i did it right, that i made you proud  please tell me i lived how you wanted me to give birth to me again and i’ll try harder would it heal you to see me leave, or would it hurt because you never did  will i see your face one day in the mirror and touch it to feel your skin and i will ask you if you could not love...

1. when i walked out the door that final time my suitcase scraped the steps   as i dragged it reluctantly to the car i wonder if it left any marks  neither of us are there anymore  there is nobody to check  if the wheels dug themselves into the stone  the same way i dug myself into you  in one last ditch attempt to stay 2.  there’s god in sunlight and water  and the sharing of citrus fruits on a beach, on the riverbank  but i’ve never felt love like hearing you laugh  after a few glasses of wine  pink on your cheeks  and joy in your eyes i’d pray to the sound of your voice if it meant you would say my name one more time  3.  good times follow bad times and even worse times come after the most beautiful times but i could never have held enough of you in my hands to get through these truly terrible times and the lack of something is also the presence of something else so the absence of your lips on mine feels like a fir...

 it’s wine in the fridge and empty cupboards and stomachs  dead flowers in the vase  you can never go back!  nothing fits the same  it’s permanently the last week of august, everything is ending yet beginning and you must be ready for it  none of it will matter in the long run  your future depends on it you’re in the back of a cab in the middle of the night  head out of the window as you cross the bridge  it’s the last time you’ll make the trip under the circumstances  the air will always smell the same  he will follow you  one, two, three clementines for dinner  the peel stays in your room for a week  they keep the spiders away  the wine is empty and you use the bottle for fresh flowers but the dead ones are still in the vase  let’s go out tonight new city, old friends  your skirt and her top, her bag and your shoes  transferring from your savings again he’ll notice you but you’ll pretend not to s...