Because I cried
but I didn’t know why.
Because I wrote lines
of poetry;
inane & flowery,
striving.
Because I have lost lots of sleep
down crooked cracks
like spider tracks;
broken webs weeping from the wall.
Because I saw
a little more
beneath lost, tired looks
& borrowed books
& long words spilt
like milk
from open mouths.
Because nothing has changed.
Because everything changed.
Because other worlds do exist
beneath sheets
& the ever changing colours
of your wise eyes.
Because I couldn’t give it up.
Because somewhere in the vast world,
people are waking up,
feeding their kids,
going to work
while I’m trying to sleep
before starting over.
Because the colour of
those roses in the rain
was so bright it hurt my dull eyes.
Because the ones you gave
weren’t dead
but still growing,
propagating
because you stole them from
errant gardens
& they’d been touched by you.
Because our music makes us sing.
Because you can feel anything
at all
& that’s a miracle.
Because I prefer the sight of far stars
to anything earthly.
Because I don’t know what else I should do.
Because I might be in love with you