i know this man.
Or he knows me, or he wants to.
He speaks to me the only way he knows how,
with fluttering fingertips
and words softer than velvet has ever been,
more delicate than egg shells,
more terrifying than loneliness.
Candle flames pour shadow
like inky wings the moon forgot,
and he tears like tissue
the numbing white walls
i built from aching memories.
i know this man,
because i can remember
the love he whispers to me now.
because i spent a summer
drowning in it.
i know this man,
because he lives in the space between sadness.
because i live there too.
because when he walks to me,
shaking moonlight from his skin,
and swallows a desparate sigh,
and remembers he's beneath a girl long dead
and reads the empty in my eyes
and knows nothing will come from the breath i give
and somehow dies every day for me
i remember how the darkness spun us both.
i know this man
because i'm home.
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