Poem: Why It’s Always A Bad Idea To Talk To Your Ex

I used to

write poems on

your womb

with my mouth.

I used to

dismiss the Sun,

tell it that you were

the very pulse of the Day,

and that even Moonlight

was an unwitting beacon,

reminding me to gaze upon

your beauty.

Now

like fingerprints placed

on a stranger’s door

I have transferred myself

to another.

The Sun and Moon

have followed.

The poems I once

laid at your feet

have been subsumed

into infinitum…

and these words are but

a eulogy.

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