Gabriel’s horn

The horn blows;

it surrenders into the night,

like no body knows

what it means.

The horn blows

and we stop, broken and all

looking up to the sky

to see the light.

The horn blows,

it is patient and wanning.

We all breathe once more,

a sad sigh of life.

The night is dark and full of empty promises.

He’s not coming home.

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The Other woman

Poetry drips from your lips

like you’ve never rehearsed these lines.

But these words aren’t meant for me;

You were never really mine.

A formal apology

I never said the things that mattered most
I would look at you, and fold in two.
You gave me more than butterflies.

I wanted to say –
I love how your eyes crinkle when you smile
and the snug fit of your shirt on your shoulders.
or how I admire your joy in simple things,
and how before I would leave,
you would always give me one last cuddle.

But I didn’t. I turned away.
I wasn’t used to giving such affection
when I have received so little.
I was afraid of the humiliation
of being ignored and being unreciprocated.

I am ashamed.

Which is why it made all the negative things I said
sound so much harsher,
made me seem so much cooler, and indifferent.
So now I say for the lack of anything other –

I’m sorry. I hope you’re ok.