Fruits of your absence

Fruits of your absence prose poem

Orchard eyes.
like a poster on a wall
they followed me
and now even your empty frame
still haunts me.

I spent the last seven days
trying to convince myself that
the couch is not a sinking ship
and you are not the sea anyway.

We ran through metaphorical fields
of blooming fruits that I
had not yet tasted before the
greenery went up in flames and
now the air is stung
with the sweet scent of forgiveness.

Now the paper beneath my palms
threatens to ignite at any minute,
the stench of smoke in my hair
has caused the birds to stop whistling;
I am bleeding juice from my fingertips
but do not know how to drink it.

Orchard heart.
I am the last standing tree in your forest.
I will always see you as flourishing.
I will always see you,
orchard eyes.

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