Poetry Feelings

forty-seven

it's no secret that i'm in love with you
between your minimum wage job
and sweet chapped lips from the bitter cold
that has become my eternity
but my god, do i miss the way you
crinkled the sheets and poured too much coffee
your words came undone with the touch of my lips
and your ribs shattered under the weight of the world
and all at once you went from everything to nothing
and my lungs filled with dirt and the dead flowers
that could easily be mistaken for my youth
and on the sixteenth day of my brokenness
i stitched myself back together; piece after piece
diamonds hiding in the back of my head
reminding me of the boy that was once mine
there is no longer a lanky you to crinkle my sheets
or drink all the coffee
but a void in my heart
and an emptiness on the side of your bed
i did not know i needed you until i had to suffer one-hundred and sixteen days without your everything