heavy heart,
filled with questions
but those eyes are dark
dripping caves,
you will never come out
alive.what first stole your
breath
now grabs at your neck,
squeezing every last
murmur
out. there’s no use hiding
in the shadows– those
irises are made of what
blankets you.
Probably:
the guarantee
of a lukewarm promise that
may or may not be
broken.
Probably: like babbling
brooks and babies. Like
babbling on and on and on;
empty words
just to fill the space
you were so afraid
of.
Probably:
a thumbs up for empty air and
words that pop like bubbles.
A contract signed with
probably in the
fine print scares me.
As I curl into your back I whisper:
will you still love me in the morning?
Only the sticky air replies:
hopefully,
maybe,
probably.
Silenticel 