Dove

The sky was a friend lately

He gazed up fondly while he lumbered through

Great expanses of rough patches never made smooth.

He loved his lady like stars and smiley-face texts, but

Her affection was either downpour or drought

and the reasons why were harder to swallow.

She wanted to be free, but not free enough to say it

He wanted her to be happy, but not without him

So, he spent more time looking for antidotes

And letting his heart climb into her design,

Letting her shadow elegantly smother joy,

Letting memories mold truth when he smelled another on her.

A few years in, she scribbled on paper

My love is a dove

An apology, a promise, nothing, he wondered briefly

Before folding it into an origami bird and leveling it at

Where her heart should have been.

 It decorated her lap until she sheepishly unfolded it and added

Doves fly

As if he didn’t know.

At least she had finally admitted it so he could grieve

Still, she kissed his tense palm through tears of relief, lingering

Kneading false hope with a proposed tantric romp,

A girlish, hippy discourse about freedom being seven tenths of harmony

A ceremonial guilt-offering so flimsy an ant could crush it.

That night, after she’d driven off with more than what she came with

He watched a lone star flirt in the sky, sucking the rest of his soul dry

Because he had never seen just one star.

Photo by Satyawan Narinedhat on Unsplash