the birds sang your song best when I first fell into you
When you first tickled my palm
On those warm july mornings
the serum of their melody
like cough syrup
dwindling down the cavity of my chasm
–– oh!
what a hymn!
the climax of something
of everything
of the in between
of the organ as the keys quake my small steeple
Slicing away at the foundation
I thank god
For his divine intervention that brought your song to me
as I scratch at your hand
trying to get used to the elevation
the birds sighed your stolen song most begrudgingly right after you left
To kiss another’s cheek
On those icy December mornings
like Satan himself
whispering velvet into my ear about how you’re not here
licking mocks of your blessings on my wrist
–– ah!
it’s blasphemy
the kiss of sweet sacrilege
molten saliva dripping down my jaw
all around me is black
except for your old tee shirt ––
as my stars
–– but you’re lightyears away with a galaxy named after a different sun
the birds still sing your beaten-up song
When she broke your heart
And you flew back to me
But I grew tired of hearing it