Monday, August 8


in all our fantasies of tragedy

it never went like this;

slowly stagnating

in one shared breath

ten year atrophy

skin growing cold;

we called it quits

three years ago;

the moon laughed at us

in our train station gloom;

now wrenched into rebirth

every six months

via text;

sunday 6:00 pm


over each other

for the high ground

wading back


stinging nettle years


treading lightly;

elastic band pull away then

snap back into place

Photo by Pradamas Gifarry on Unsplash