I miss the sky on days it refuses to return.

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The sky leaves the universe every evening, there is no rotation or revolution around the sun, 
the moon is the crevice, 
through which the sky, 
enters another world,
the constellations, 
are exit routes
and you wouldn’t leave, 
this time. 

All of my poetry,
wrapped in whispers, 
made of the same being,
as the atoms,
of the words I speak,
every day. 

I speak words every day, 
mere letters stringed around,
atoms that mean so much,
but are too little. 

my tongue calls the universe back inside, 
I bleed conversations,
I have with you,
every evening,
a cup of coffee,
a book,
and emptiness.

We speak of the days,
the sun refuses to shine, 
when the oceans feel a lot heavier,
my trembling fingers on yours, 
I whisper with my fingers,
I have too much to say,
on days the sky refuses to return,
the cosmos kissing the sky a goodbye,
another goodbye. 
I feel as empty as one.  

all these words mean nothing 
except that I miss you 
and the sky doesn’t feel like the sky without you, 
it leaves every day, 
only to never return, 
and there is nothing, 
except emptiness, 
in a universe 
that whispers your name 
in every atom of its being, 
in every atom of my being. 

I hope you come back, 
the sky too. 

_I miss the sky on days it refuses to return.
National Poetry Writing Month, Day 10. 


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