gray

my cheekbone is tender from lying
on concrete, lying
in shallow wounds
lying
not lying.

I can’t offer you a smile
from across a room
can’t lie at the feet of your emptiness
and offer myself as food
for I am too large and too far
and too good at not lying
and I wish
for a moment
that I wasn’t.

and my hair is darker now
and the smiles, when they come
are different
but I see it
clear as a skeleton wearing skin
I see your clouds
and I sit beneath a shallow lake
and watch for rain.

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don't be shy

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