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,”

she explains.

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.

By Shaoni

About Shaoni:
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.