My glass heart
is a case study of kintsugi
with cheap bourbon
filling the cracks. Numb fingers
reach towards number lips
as a drowsy mind’s eye sees
your laughing face,
smells floral shampoo,
tastes morning breath.

I’d have tripped over my tongue
saying, “I loved you,”
so I don’t.
The night’s old, I’m alone.
No one would have heard.

17 thoughts on “Nocturne

  1. Remy, this was lovely. Do you write poetry often? That first stanza especially is so real and evocative, I’d be so happy to read more stuff like this from you. Sending special blogger-friend Valentine’s hugs 🤗

    Liked by 1 person

I-it's not like I want you to leave a comment or anything. B-baka.

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