Your Door

I used to be able to reach
Out and grab your
Fingers but now they’re
buried in your hair and
I can’t seem to figure out
which way isn’t up.

You were this idea floating
Around inside my mind and
I’d miss you but I hadn’t
Seen you or told you that
It was Wednesday,
Not Friday and that
Just maybe it was time
To call

So what next?

Short waves and the
incapability of
Telling yourself that
Rain fills up boots and
You aren’t her or him
And you’re still not here.

I don’t think he says it anymore
But he does, and his skin is purple
And green and it’s black and when he blinks
He looks like he’s lost his way

except who knew that once you let go
you couldn’t decide to be
you again.
It’s not a promise, it’s a
Lifeline. Purple and old
But it made me happy and

Remember when you whispered that
The bed didn’t fit
Unless you turned it sideways.

I just want you to Sing to me again