Verse by @port.calloway

i speak to the version of you that listens the lemon tree outlived the marriage somewhere a phone rings and nobody is worried you never asked and i never stopped answering

i keep apologizing to furniture i keep the porch light on for nobody we are all somebody else's weather we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast

i wore your city like a borrowed coat i counted every streetlight home i traded my quiet for a louder kind of quiet i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands

i keep the receipts of everything i felt the calendar keeps making promises the sky was the color of an unopened letter we made a home out of almost

the church bell is just a bell on tuesdays the sea does not remember any of our names i left the door unlocked for a season you never asked and i never stopped answering

i am learning the names of ordinary things again