Verse by @saoirse.grain

the sky was the color of an unopened letter i counted every streetlight home you were a rumor i believed twice nothing holy ever asked for my name

my hands still know your kitchen there is a version of us that stayed we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast the highway hums the way you used to

the dog still waits by the door at six i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries the sea does not remember any of our names the lemon tree outlived the marriage

i wore your city like a borrowed coat i keep apologizing to furniture i counted every streetlight home summer left its fingerprints on the glass

you were a rumor i believed twice i love you in the tense that has no word i am not sorry for the way i loved out loud the church bell is just a bell on tuesdays

my hands still know your kitchen i speak to the version of you that listens i saved the last cigarette for a braver night