when the doors of the elevator open
my eyes will make its way through
dressed in amber and rose
looking back at the space
of secrets only mirrors inside the box know
you dont reach out
because i am no longer with you
i am no longer with you
because i am within
i will be in the space you breathe
in the same rhythm you beat
in the same paths through doors that close
and open again
I turn on the TV to keep me company in your leave. Slumber comes and goes and I am left alone with the sound of a woman’s thick French accent drowned out by the hiss of a lush body of butter melting in the heat of a sleek steel pan. For an hour after noon, the room is dim. Even with all the lights on, there is a void punctuated by all things suddenly starkly visible: wrinkles on the bedspread, strands of hair, stacks of clutter, unsorted business gathering dust. Only the curtain shifts to the draft of a cold artificial breeze.
The air swells with your absence and I breathe.
In another morning after, the room will be aflush with the simmer of our exhales. Stillness tickled briskly, light will slip in through the tangle of limbs beneath crumpled sheets.
Badass Delights 