There was a bleeding that happened,
when your hand slipped silently from mine.
Narrow brooks lead to an ocean of sunshine—
and I never quite got there.
I’m always more in the spotted rim of your eye,
keeping me from where I ever wanted to be.
In a past moment—
you had me.
The sewn lips and unclean hands
forced me to walk away.
Back to the place I always should have been…
and memories pass . . .
bury deep beneath a ribcage
that was once etched with promise.
Yes, I think of you.
I wish for you growth,
and something better than me.
I pray in moonlit nights
that the sun that bolted from your skies
will one day give way—
and flowers will finally grow
on our forgotten grave.