You believe. The petals of the universe
soft between your fingers as you ask
if he loves you not; worlds of pink & flutter
pooling around your feet as you sigh
with all the wistfulness of the wind as she
runs her fingers over the spine of the river.
Try not to imagine how his hands would move,
the way his lips would feel; try not to solve
for the angle of his shoulders, the slant
of his smile, half the volume of the shadow
he throws against a world that does not
quite match up to yours; constellations
of conversation & dreams to divine the light years
in between what you feel & the indifference you wish
you could claim, cold as the roots of the mountains
buried in the months before the thaw. Wish you could
run into the sea until every lash is crystal with salt, every inch
of your body becoming raw mineral & foam. Dissolve until
the screaming sea deafens you to the lie you won’t stop
telling yourself — I’ve never wanted anything but alone.
LE Francis (she/her) is a recovering arts journalist writing poetry & fiction of varying length from the rainshadow of the Washington Cascades. Find her online at nocturnical.com