Literature
resurfaced (sapphire suns)
the thing is,
if it had been different,
through cigarette-thin lips would've come
my name, wrapped in the scent of amber gin.
on wooden floors we'd be lined in light
again, laying so close. not touching.
if it was a cry for help,
nobody was really listening, were they, not
even your father, and so you left,
left in more ways than one, and i only heard you
when it didn't matter anymore.
the thing is,
you've been gone from my mind and heart
for years now, i've lost count.
days have been more fleeting than my own
inhales, my own exhales, or at least
it would seem.
the thing is, z,
time passes and changes.
my stars were your