You heard how I breathe when I sleep,
Or how I made those odd little moaning noises.
It was funny; I just laughed at how we laughed,
Sad. Now, I’m saddened by the memory of our laughter.
A Neptunian fury, name it a curtain call,
The brim of the acrylic cloth that concealed shadows in our love,
Hollow in the squeaky bed, bolted in with rusty lugs,
Lunging forth to greet the sunrise, under covers dried with passion.
In our eyes, there lies a passive, sane, perhaps a way,
For absence makes my heart grow stranger,
Struck gold with a pickaxe made from my own bone,
Marrow that you’d swallow, a diamond in the rough, drone,
Piling up, glowing in the dark.
We’d pair up so close to the heart,
If we were of another genus from the start,
The geniuses on Noah’s ark couldn’t have torn us apart.