The Sun Watches

Time stumbles, 

but I never do, 

every time I step across
                                      the threshold of your door.

I gently dress up the wounds I gave you
                                                                a few weeks ago

and let you do the same for me.

The setting sun is peeking in

through the gap under your window’s blind

The rays turn you to gold and I—

I don’t make a sound 

as you draw your own blades out of my skin

and let me bleed 

dark red
             all over your pastel blue bed sheets.

We buy back the illusion, bit by bit.

The room is a haze (is it passion or hallucination?)

Your skin is on mine again.

My skin is yours and yours is mine again.

The sun’s rays slowly shy away from us.

The haze will soon lift again and the room will dissipate.


You and I, two figures in a snow globe
                                                              stuck in this moment forever.

You and I, two parallel lines
                                           some distance from each other.

I’ll let your pictures
                                stay on my phone,

you’ll keep reading
                               the book I left behind

and we will marry
                             the wrong people.

Our wounds will heal

and scars will fade

and we’ll only think of each other
                                                      when we see another golden sunset.

But maybe the snow globe will someday turn

and the parallel lines will meet at infinity.

I’ll let you step across the threshold of my door

and watch 

time 

stumble again.

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