The moon looked like a faded orange
someone had taken a bite out of,
like it was an apple.
“They’ve run out of apples, you see,”
I think about all the things we replace
only so they would occupy some space.
Either way, I don’t really give a damn
as long as the bougainvilleas are still breathing
on the window sill:
the prettiest flower noose that goes with my shirt
with sketched peonies.
Thing is, I really like flowers
and I keep them real soft;
they are the softest thing I have ever felt
barring your mouth.
I really like your mouth,
I think that’s why I like flowers.
Tonight, I felt I was going to fall into the moon,
but I ended up waking up quite a bit too soon.
I have pretty eyes, you see,
so I try to keep them open for as long as I can.
I can’t see as well
because eyes that are always looking are
eyes that are almost sleeping and
I see you coming back.
For once, your eyes are on me and not off me
and that is how I realise that this is not reality:
I need new glass eyes for weaving believable lies.
“I said they’ve run out of apples.
Do you want oranges instead?”
My friend is tired of me losing track and
it scares me a little because her mouth is turning down
just the way yours used to when
you were realising that you didn’t want me anymore
and I wonder
if this is what the face of I’m tired of you looks like
and if I should get used to it;
the tug of the lips that drowns me so –
I nod hurriedly,
because it doesn’t matter,
I’ll simply have the oranges like they’re apples.
Shaoni is a Literature student who likes sad poems and haunted places. Her rare moments of productivity are deeply hindered by tea addled bouts of procrastination and an ever increasing obsession with Elvis Presley. For more, you can check out her Instagram profile at @_shaoni.
Artwork by Phazed.