I Thought We Were Exes

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Give to me
the softsharp press
the moons of your nails
at the dip of my spine,
please
give me a reason.

I am hollow,
choked
on the uncertain breath
of waiting. I
could swear

it was your voice
in the night
behind the moon.
But when the air cleared, clouds
passing,
you were gone.

I have but one answer
for all this trembling air:

I heard your voice in the night.
The uncertain breath
off your lips
moved
behind this curtain
of waiting.

Amy Parkes

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