i will blame it on the planes & universities

if i sleep, i sleep to dream
of bar stools & sunburnt hands
- your hands, to be precise
some precious gibberish, some archaic nameless nonsense but
i loved you, didn't i, before...
i am staring at old pictures,
the tattered remains of a malicious muse who eventually committed suicide
you were my idea of homecoming, my meant-to-be casket, the asylum
fit for a mad girl like me.
instead you became the ink stains on my fingers,
my smudged charcoal drawings of a prince charming, a mile deep lake
of water so transparent i thought it would only reach my waist

your voice is something i can never get over

but there is a plane ticket in the pocket of your favourite pants,
right there between your cigarette pack and my malfunctioning heart

i am not ready to wave goodbye