you learn from icarus,
this time, and instead of
flying too close to the sun,
you simply pluck it from
the sky like a ripened peach
eaten in one bite,
you laugh through the
blood running down your
chin like sticky nectar
and when what remains
of those great wax wings has
been sufficiently cauterized,
almost matching the scars
stretching across your chest,
you decide it’s time
to go home
there’s no porchlight left
on for you this time, and
the bed is unmade just like
you left it
but you’ll turn the lights on
as you go, moving through
the house like a ghost,
finally the one
doing the haunting
and you’ll fall asleep
alone, and wake up
much the same way,
but that’s okay
alone but never lonely,
you tell yourself,
and even if it’s through
clenched teeth sometimes,
it’s the truth
so you say your own name,
feel it on the tongue like you
imagine a lover would,
and let that sun in your belly
keep you warm on the coldest nights