no one else will see the messages scattered
and decode you like I can.
They’re all the same phantom framed around ink,
ciphers waiting to be unearthed through the narratives,
the unnerving breadth between hesitation and touch,
belonging to who will never belong to me.
Never questioning the fire looming over us,
the hungry flames licking and lashing,
but I’ve been here for too long to burn.
I can only study the cinders you turn it all into,
parchment blackened and curling into itself,
clothes encasing your scent like a secret perfume,
meticulous collections I gave everything to protect.
I’ve memorized a body of work no one else can uncover,
no one has tied the cues and signals together as I have.
They’re the same fragile apparition framed around me,
clues exhumed and patiently arranged,
the space between shivering lips and the
thundering inside your chest.
Belonging to who will never belong to me.
Never calculating the cold flooding our veins,
the tense pauses and stories ready to poison the roots,
and I’ve been here too long to taste the lacing venom.
I can only study the evidence you left behind,
the sparkle of another that may be dancing across your eyes,
jealousy encasing me like a silent lonely cage,
built from every letter unfolding.
They’re the entity floating around who
will never belong to me.
