The Night, Marry

Here, the night is calm, Marry.
The masses of stars and clouds are
burdening the curtains and
the puddles are sliced into little
staggering crescents and all
I'm thinking about is you and how
you'd love such a night.

Everything is quiet but there's
something ugly lurking in the corners,
in the silent corridores of a hospitals,
in everywhere we go, in everyone
of us.

If I moved the moon aside,
will you show up, Marry?

Will you let me tell you about him
and how the touch of his hand
can make me feel safe like
the touch of yours used to do?
Will you pillow-fight with me again?
Laugh so hard then lay down,
taking a breath,
your head resting on my lap,
my hands combing your hair?

Now you're printed on my heart;
an ashamed, sad fossil.
Language isn't helping me find you,
but I know a piece of you hides in
this pen, trying to reach me.

Here, the night is dead, Marry.
In your presence, the sky had softer skin,
and I miss that.

I miss that, friend.