Fragmented

All my yesterdays and tomorrows jumbled,

woven around your long fingers, you play a game

Cat’s cradle with my life.

The broken pieces of mist seep in

through my eyes, ears, nose, until

I am choking with uncertainty, grappling,

fumbling for closeness, finding meaning

In petty, paltry squabbles

with you.

Purple-blue dusks are the ones

when I miss you the most.

Sometimes, the room still smells of

the cigarette you held between

your lips, long after

you have gone.

You are

rose-leaves and moonbeams, the

taste of starlight from your eyes

lights the corners of the room when

the shadows are darkest.

The sunlight glides across your back,

tracing the line of fine hair. You are

golden in this light, so beautiful

that the glare of you burns on

my eyelids like the sun itself,

blood orange in the sky of dawn.