sometimes I eat poems late at night when there’s war in my belly and I’ve been tossing and turning for hours, trying to sleep you out of my skin. darling, I am snacking on soft words again, you left me none, you left me nothing to fuel the honey in my bones to wake the fire in my veins you left me nothing you left me none, so I slip out from between the sheets and feast on all the poems you should’ve written for me. all the poems I should’ve written for myself.
