Sober

Would relapse be those mornings I wake up too soon
to find that you were on the cusp of my imagination.
It seems to make more sense before I confess aloud
these longings that seem so ridiculous now.
I feel like I’ve been drunk or high,
but what it really is, is to wake up;
you’re not here anymore.

Rescue

I see it everywhere, the colloquial equivalent
Of the most ambitious sort.
“I’m most afraid,
The world is a lonely sport.”
Judging whether we ought to be rescued, I can’t help
Without being wrought
Catatonic by my own muse, knowing we had
Already known this in life and strive yet
Against the ubiquity of being alone.

Remember

Letting go of your hand, I felt fear
In case you would forget me, long after I
Had already begun to move on.
“Why do you think we want to be
Remembered?” You asked once before.
I stopped making believe
Of our fake dialogues since
I can remember.

A Lifelong Search

An embrace ought to be more than
The singing of our atoms pulling together
Vibrations in the air, often mistaken for a spark
A deep stare between dilated pupils suggests
Pivoting orbits whose axle chanced to align with yours,
With precision I cannot tell you true love apart from
A familiar anecdote you might have once heard,
You’ll know when you find it
Is what she said