You go in the morning,
To birdsong and sunlight.
It would be OK, then,
if you never came back.
Fleeting visits allow
me to remain, at least, the
ringmaster of my dreams,
kept hidden from my heart.
I’m curled up, my eyes closed.
I hear the door click shut.
My phone tells me you’re gone
At ten minutes apart.
Leaving used to sit dead
heavy in my gut, but
its Friday now sweetheart
And I don’t want you back.
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