When the daylight sneaked in
tangling arms with the tangerines on the table
and my bed made soft from the sun,
why am I stinging from your words,
and the smile of your face,
and the panicked flooding of feathers and birds?
On this page you say I’m nothing much
on that you say you never loved me
or maybe
that sneaking skyline never touched you.
When the daylight creeps in
that glowing face is gone–
but it was never even there.
Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry
Photograph By Golden star Poetry Copyright 2013
Golden Star Poetry 