Feb 13th

[sordidlilthing]

Feb 13th

When I'm facing the window and watching the running concrete
head angled in such a way that my cheek is pressed against my shoulder
I think about death.

I think about how you two are so comfortable, finishing
each other's sentences, trailing after each other's scented tracks
kissing with wide-open eyes

That brutal happiness that one only gets when they least expect it
so I live through the day putting on an uneager face
I'm patient, so very patient

When you tell me how she slammed the door in your face, tears and frustration
in your trembling lip, can't you see how it's an act of passion,
not an act of hate?

I ignore the traffic and think about death because I would gladly die
for a sliver of that contained intensity
trapped within your ribcage.

Because tomorrow there will be some attempt at stitching the void
Then there will be a collective sigh of relief
and the world will make itself right.

I will find myself turning my back from the window, afraid
and wondering what I can do by myself
for the next fifty years.