triptych

1.
I sat on the edge
of the bed, consumed
with the movement of her
fingers tracing an invisible
tatoo on my naked hip,
her nails digging
into my skin to remind me of pain

there was no she, only her
for was I just the boy
the gentle morning couldn't save?

she packed her bags
that day, two little suitcases,
horrible and dignified


2.
I sat on the edge
of the bed, consumed
with the movement of his
slow restlessness
whipping the white bedsheets into cream,
his arms waiting and wanting
me to pin them down

there was no he, only him,
for was I just the boy
the hateful afternoon could not save?

he packed his bags
that day; two things he left:
his keys and the smell of his hair on my pillows


3.
I sat on the edge
of my bed, consumed
with the sound of my patient breathing,
the sound of my neighbor's TV,
reminding me of blue light
and take-out dinners

there was no one, only me,
for was I just the boy
the jealous night adores?

I packed my bags
that night: two full, the other empty
time to collect the stars