i’ll write a poem about how you breathe, short, staggering, calm,
and how the light fixes up the tone of the room so it’s nice to stay here for hours
unblinking, unchanging, little pillars of sun-set flame pink and orange, not a blazing fire
i’ll write a poem about deep eyes, about packing a suitcase and running away with them
and how holding hands is something i’m just not used to, and how even when someone isn’t here, they’re here
memory foam mattress, but the springs are broken, it’s an old bed, it dosn’t matter
i’ll write a poem about fading laughter in the night,
and how soft it is, and how the music has to stop at some point, but that’s okay
unblinking, unchanging, framed by little pillars of blurry fairly lights in the other room, not a blazing fire