You tell me it’s over and the birds fly south, leaving their nests untended, worms on their beaks, while I wilt away not knowing how to call them back. I have ink for tears staining calligraphy on my cheeks, eyes an octopus spitting venom like cobras, I really have ink for tears. And then you say it’s lovely, this sky, and we stare at it together, arms-around-waist; and you say it’s lovely, this moon by the beach, and I nod because I agree, it’s lovely.
And then there are times when I leave you, and it’s not a gap but a patch, it saves my life, just enough for me to come back to you. Flying south to reach the north where you will be waiting. And then just like that it stops, until everything happens, all over again.
