Camille Delaune

Sophomore Year

It passed without my permission: violently, quietly, with purpose.
Took my apologies with pride,
didn’t give me a chance to grasp what it was running with.
Fed me remnants of newspaper articles by the spoonful
and thought that was enough.
Facts were never worth losing the night, but was it me who made you think so?
I meant to tell you that I’m still here, I’m still waiting.

Honey filled the swollen cracks around my nail beds.
I’m asking you to consume me. I’m asking you to be something real.

I spent three hours in a deep slumber
but I didn’t dream about trapping your words in a fishing net.
I didn’t dream about the colors that your name
makes when it’s followed by silence.

You turned their street from something like lemonade
into a mere pathway north
so that all I can see is your rocky house hidden behind theirs.
It’s even more seductive than what her black-rimmed eyes were to you.

I’d bet if I closed my eyes in front of your home
I could still taste the bittersweet collection of memories
that lingered in the air like the guilt that hung over you.
I miss the sound of your name in my mouth.