i wake in the belly of a fasting beast
a broken day devouring itself.
there are too many poems about morning
i announce
to my empty room. a loose bouquet
of light drifts to where you last lay
still
the shadow of your leaving
scrawled against the wall.
there is no night left in this bed.
once
drunk off the stars i dreamed
the moon had your face. day came
with the same inevitability of heartbreak
as it always comes
the sky tied together with solitude.
lately, time has revealed itself
as a mirror.
i watch your hands unbutton a map
and flatten it across your knees.
have you ever touched a mountaintop?
you whisper. has the sky ever reached downwards
and swept you up? have you ever been touched
here or here and like this?
do you like this?
the clock on my wall sighs a sigh
that resists finish. come, it seems to say,
stain these sheets with your touch.
ellie sharp is a college student in portland, oregon studying comparative literature. they’ve been published by Blue Marble Review and Bitch Media. they are also editor in chief of their college’s literary magazine, The Reed College Creative Review.