& i still haven't figured out
why these thick clouds like to travel
with sadness. there is something
rhythmic about rain drops. they crash on your roof, & you hear a choir
of angels screaming
eulogies, & woe to whoever is lonely
tonight.
i found a sweater
you left in a hurry,
& i don't know what to do
with it. it smells like strawberries &
something else. peach?
or maybe a noxious goodbye.
i found comfort
in its soft fabric.
& tonight. i will try to
ward off the cold. cover my ears,
& refuse to adopt melancholy,
from a sky shedding tears.
tonight. i will try.
& i will fail.
YOU ARE READING
Endless. Blue
Poetry"the day you first told me you loved me, it was hot, the sun picked at our skins like god was trying to kill us with a magnifying glass. . ."
