You scaled me like a rigid, unyielding mountaintop
and you slipped through honey nectar words
that pooled in my head.
I wiggle a finger in my ear and make the world shake.
Your words stick to the grief track circling my ear drum –
hungry tentacle lullaby.
I lay back and stare at the ceiling.
in the far corner –
a stain the color of sweet tea
has spread into the shape of Australia,
an eerie match for your birth mark.
So I force focus over your shoulder
and see the edge of your ribcage in our ceiling.
I’m looking for the you I used to know –
feather flight traces blow in the barest gap
between our flesh.
And I only feel you now
when you aren’t touching me.
© Laura A. Lord, 2020
Thank you to MindLoveMisery for the prompt.