Love never kept the bed warm for me at night,
Instead all it ever did was fill me with
unfulfilled fairytale prophecies
inscribed on my back like constellations
hieroglyphs of a tear-stained
civilization
that I still cannot decipher

Love taught me how to
hang my memories out to dry
like clothing on a line
until I ran out of pins, only
to put them on later
suddenly too tight on my body
than I remember