fingertips brush the nape of your neck
but the ghost of kiss-swollen lips linger.
they linger in the way the sun rises,
through skies of blue and cotton clouds,
and your soul whispers words caught in the back of her throat.
words that drift as they catch the wind’s cruel currents.
unspoken, unseen, undeclared.

maybe, if hearts had mouths, they would cry out all their desires,
all while sewing themselves shut to protect the brain from hearing.
for restless dreams are meant to stay in unconscious states,
and the waking reality is that this love no longer exists anymore.

perhaps, not in us.
but in weathered hands, tearing at silky skin.
muddy, quicksand-like eyes, narrowed as you sink further beneath the surface,
unlike an ocean that tackles your body with the kiss of a wave.

you’ll remember this love when the stillness hits at midnight
underneath a star-freckled sky,
each twinkling dot swallowed by ink and the dazzling lights of the city.
you’ll toss and turn, but not too much.
you don’t want to wake the presence that fills the once-empty spot in your bed.
you’ll hold them close, you’ll think you’re not alone,
but you’ll be reminded of the universes you could’ve traveled.

when the quiet void begins to envelope you right before sleep,
you’ll run to her in your dreams.
and there she’ll stand,
with the kids, and the dog, and the house you once dreamed of
together.

because, in this life, while you were the bomb ready to explode at any moment,
she, who saw you as something worth saving, handled your wires with care.
in this life, the demons that inhabit the shell of your body
were silenced by her beauty
her laugh
her love

you end every night in each other’s arms before
you wake.

you’re alone once more, and her spot is still empty.
it always was.
because she was never truly yours,
even if you belonged to her.