Semi-Moored Silenced Super Girl

Hysteria of finding someone has died in curls of smoke and thirty-three days between here and his place. Forgive me, he says, and not the first time either. You know what it means: Move on. Mystique of a blue notebook he gave you, stays. Gold-edged, shiny silvery pages. Instead of words, you doodle, carve little secrets wedged into long vines of meanings, time your sobs to when the neighbor’s crafty little cat slides underneath the door. Cuddle it like remembrance. Your heart singes now. You line the bed with more scented candles, don’t switch on lights. Ignore ringing phone, the doorbell. Instead watch granular wax-pools form. Lick your shadow, scribble for the first time, on shiny silvery pages. Eloquent lines of love, whirlpools of nameless surrender, eclectic phrases of confusion. Then draw the map of a place you’ve never been. Paint alleys you’ve never treaded. Then, etch your liberty: a key hanging, ready to open a door locked for so long. At dawn, defy the commonalities and spread your ivory wings. When the yolk leaps to freed skies, fly away to new moons.