In the gray morning
wake to find
two eyes judging the
moment when the sun
interrupts this wet slate
floating a waxing
paradise of consternation.
We’re meant to echo
we’re meant to follow
we’re meant to hold on
I couldn’t miss your eyes
or the words you tried to pass
over my head.
Grabbing the emptiness
because sometimes–
more comfort in silence
more comfort in the way
questions are
that sink into your bones
It pours inside the bar
and everything drowns.