most nights, your name is penned across the sky
inked in slowly sloping curves of cursive
traced with gold and underlined with silver
and bleeding into the starry paper behind

in the beginning, it was so easy to love
but what good is loving if it is never reciprocated?
acknowledgement vindicates my inner guilt
for following the way that I was designed

everything I’ve ever let go of
has claw marks embedded in it
and downy feathers adorning the fissures
where the love of a partner should have been

inside the locket you left me with
there are two faded and crumbling pictures
one of you and me when we were young and carefree
and one of a stranger, standing tall and clear


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