Leaving You
Maylin Enamorado

You: a hassle splintered in my skin. This is
the moment in which waking up means leaving you

cross-legged and split by the outlet of a dream.
You: the musing of an exhausted sun.

As fog disbands, you become clearer;
your organs play loudly through your skin.

I will remember these paths if I ever come again:
how to arrive at your wrist without touching,

how to row against the skipping in your veins.
The moaning of keys, how their middles cave

and surge with bellowing praise. I will follow
this noise into morning. The bees will hum it

as your absence wrings the room. It will taste
like locusts and honey, renewal by drowning.

You: the unmapped pocket of sleep. I have folded
and tucked myself in. If to unravel is to awake

as a piece of dancing string, tie my feet to
your strongest rib. Because how sweet it must be

to know that the expansion of your breath
is enough to pull me in.

Maylin Enamorado likes to tell stories through words, action, and film. Poetry is the root of her happiness. There is a 78% chance she might be part-fairy.