Poetry: Six Months.

Six Months.

it’s been six months since I last saw you in the light
since I last heard you wrap
my name around your tongue
(or maybe it was love, I don’t know anymore)

do you still love me six months on?
(or did you ever love me at all)
when all I ever do is love you
across mountains and waveforms
when the mere thought of your voice
sends shivers down my spine
when the thought of your touch reminds me of a time
when I believed you were the only one who knew
how to say my name the way that you do — because honey,
there are times when I wonder if you meant what you said
or did you lace your sentences
with misplaced commas and absent fullstops
in your effort to forget what you lost
when she took something away that I tried to replace
six months after she left you with
but empty tapes
(except it’s been twenty-four months since that day)

god knows I’ve tried to record over them
but there will always be
a little skip in every track
that will remind you of the six
(or twenty-four) months you lost
when she gave up.


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