Meet Me in Your Poem Drawer

friday wind a ghost on my cheek, 

haunted by the moment the weather turned bleak.

my phone lighting up my coat pocket 

the moment to watch yours I promised.

the crunching autumn leaves

stayed silent about you leaving your heart under the trees.

don’t need to watch my steps on the pier,

if they never make their premiere.

I knew it by the time raindrops meant a darkened coat and a darkened heart,

and the hopes of a song from the golden album were dropped.

you said that it’s kind of beautiful how I feel so deeply,

but is it still beautiful when your pain is written in routinely?

this will work because I can’t bear the contrary,

but I bear it anyway, not ready.

I mail back your songs,

and the stamp sticks to the track after four.

squeezing my teddy bear,

because I knew it was a feeling you would share.

not breathing,

because that’s how you would feel after you stopped reading.

can you shoot the messenger who seeks to lessen your pain?

it’s no one’s fault I couldn’t feel the rain.

I hand you the bow and arrow to show you my trust,

and throw myself over you,

but the pain found home in both of us.

but no one shot at us.

so meet me in your poem drawer,

”yourself”,

you’ll someday find a rhyme for.