good morning, the sky says—-
pierced with the severing
force of the clouds—-
the red and orange
bleeds from the horizon
the morning’s chill stings my skin—-
this, too, is another razor,
blood oozing out in droplets
relieving myself with a reminder
that i’m human
i am not immune to loneliness,
everyone gone save for the lilac blooms
and sad birdsong—-
is it possible to not miss your laugh?
would i want a world without that longing?
a world wherein i’m not bereft?
-the first of june 2023, 5:43a.m.