i pour cereal in your blue, ceramic bowl
as blue as the creases of your sheets,
when you’re tossing,
& sleep is out of the question.
i’m as blue as your bowl
as fragile as the ceramic
perhaps not as glinting
but you won’t notice
cereal floats in cold milk,
‘my body is not used to warmth’
a naked corner of your diary says,
one you’ve kept since 02′
i know where you hide your diary,
in the same nook, you hide your hurt.
drops of cereal topple to the floor,
it’s 6 in the morning,
my eyes are heavy,
i feel your fingers,
untangle the knots of my morning hair
& slowly take the bowl,
my heart thaws a little.
the shampoo bottle can wait another day.
it all started,
when a song in my playlist,
asked me to knock on heaven’s door.
& there i was,
at 3 a.m,
knocking at yours.