My name has been forgotten since last September, it's falling, decorating doorways and
digging splinters into the soles of my feet....
His skin crawls, I want to know where he thinks he's going, I wonder if he thinks he's
I wonder if he thinks I'll follow.
There's no icing on the cake and the bed's not made yet, it's mid-morning,
(it's raining again, Dear)
and blankets are mumbling dreams to wrinkled sheets as the mattress constantly gets my
God, he's soaking wet and my towels are somewhere missing, wrapped around my head, I can
muffle this, his voice doesn't resonate so loudly through
(it never rained then, Dear, never a drop on Wednesday)
it's still September, it's twenty months past knowledge and intelligence is simply thirty
days away, I know he's familiar with doing this again and I'm not crazy
but I'm well aware of the way to get there, I've been following him since
the August that dusted across my smile when he finally learned how to kiss me.
I whisper this as Autumn falls, I'm catching leaves on my tongue, pretending snowflakes
will save me, sometimes death is the shade of the seventeen strands of my hair that
captured summer and I wonder
how that feels
when he runs his fingers through my curls.
I sleep next to him, his scent erases my name but his lips mumble me, his arms hold me
behind the doors that went missing last January, and I think that maybe there might be
snowflakes in the shadows that are created by candlelight as he tries to be different,
when he makes an attempt to breathe me in, I don't exhale, I don't ever
close my eyes, I only taste regret on the tip of my tongue as
rolls off my lips
and follows him straight out of the dreams that will be argued in the morning
when I'm stuck in the doorways that remember winter
as September forgets my name.