lick the wound dry
his reflection in the interrupted mirror
a mirage of the past and future
his music, rhythm, melody,
strung from the depths of his mind and intellect
passion and desires, all that he is and thinks about
pangs of expression of exhilaration
shouting for impact and changes
caress me tend to me whisper to me make tea for me love me fuck me cook for me understand me listen to me pay attention to me be curious about me be thirsty for my opinion wait to hear from me read me ask to see my work write about me sing about me think about me lust after me.
i remain alone next to you as you think for me but are disinterested in my intellectual properties
as we sleep in the same bed night after night but have our backs facing each other, happy to instead look at our phones other people’s stories the black bordered news memes evaporated jokes or just the home page of apps swiping left and right absolutely nothing.
love comes and goes, but you and i remain our lonely individual beings trapped inside one mind in the respective bodies. i long for something bigger than subjectivity and singularity.
you witness all my vomit of dark memories nuances in between moments burnt into my memory and reignite as a forest fire. relief followed by a sense of sadness: what now and how are these feelings so deeply haunting?