MAYBE TWO DAYS

maybe two days
one on top of each other
like title and subtitle
or the light bulb in your mouth
or the walking torsos
or the cut hand and the cut beak of a chicken man

maybe two days without you
turn everything upside down
break the glass
throw the bottle
dig a hole where it can’t be done
and speak to yourself alone, at night

maybe two days without you
and my blood leaves me
I become a flying knife
a noise
a tear as heavy as a bad poem

maybe two days without you
are growing on me
are pushing me
my head
looks down
I see
two days walking

I walked two days without you
into the desert of my room
a camel – an orange in my hand
looking for the light of you

two days without the sun of your love
and I’ve become the inside of a crow
the inside of a planet
the inside of a god of darkness

maybe two days
the difference in between
being with you and being without you.

::: ::: :::

[Picture: The forest by reading_is_dangerous]