I knew I wanted to be a writer because I left
a library book, my pink Garbage CD,
and a half-written poem
on the linden purple line train
and all I lost sleep over
was the fact that I couldn't write the poem down
somewhere else besides on the folded piece of paper
dropped between the plastic seats
nevermind the increasing library fees.

I know you're a lover because you can leave
in the morning while I'm half-asleep
and get all the way out of my backyard
before some unknown force pulls you back
to the side of my bed, just to hear me breathe
waking up to see you kneeling over me
I knew you belonged there because
I stared into your irises and saw mine

I haven't been able to find you lately
(I never had to look before)
I want to take you by your freckled cheekbones
and tell you a secret:

"it's hard to adjust to life without you."

I crave your membranes and what they did to me
getting caught between your almond lids
and a pupil

I haven’t seen my eyes in a week.

I wonder if you miss my irises
pupils and corneas
my retinas are doing fine but
my optic nerves get anxious without you.
I wonder what my eyes look like.

it’s hard to adjust to life without you.
the days are as long as they were before
back when my cheeks froze from staying
out in the cold all night, just so
I didn't have to sleep alone
and my neck was always sore
from staring at the ground