Sep 12

Pretending

This is a poem 
for you.
 
The kind of poem
that drips,
golden and glowing
from your lips
onto hard concrete at 2AM.
 
I’m reading you aloud
in the dark company
of night.
and you’re not even here to listen.
 
This is a love poem
to all the gods
we thought we knew.
 
To thick fog
at dawn.
 
To distance between fingers
and the sticky glue
we call hope.
 
I’m finally talking about
all the things
I forgot to mention
early in the morning, lonely
 
on a train platform somewhere.
 
Surely, the exact place
I have never been.
 
This is a love poem
to you.
 
It’s about caves,
and winter sunlight.  
 
About all the places you refuse to cry 
and the time
the ocean did it for you.
 
This is a manifesto
to the nook
below your chin.
 
And the place your
eyelashes meet when you
sleep.
 
These words are for
the silent parts of you,
your stomach;
the time you stomped all the stars
from their sky
in your socks.
 
This is a love poem
but not the kind
we pretend to know.

 
About the Author: Love to write
“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” -Maya Angelou
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