“He used to write poems about me,” my mother says, she’s pouring her first glass of wine and her hands are shaking but she doesn’t feel it she doesn’t feel much of anything she’s on her third glass now she says “he was so in love with me” cut to glass number five and I swear to god she’s crying liquor now she says “I can’t believe he’s gone” and then she says “goodnight” and gets in bed next to him

He says that he’ll never get sick of me but he’s always got a cold, his mother says it’s his weak bones and the way he’s never home. I say “please don’t leave” and he says that he wouldn’t dream of it but half the time, he doesn’t sleep. He says that he’ll never get sick of me but he coughs when we kiss.

I’m planning the funeral before either of us even curl up under the dirt in your backyard and let grass grow from the cracks in our lips and you’re in my bedroom and you love me and I’m marking down the days on my calendar till you don’t I should be so happy but I’ve been bleeding in advance I’ve always been one to plan ahead so I’ve got our heartbreak playing out in my head and I can feel it in my stomach like it’s already happened ten times over

“He used to write poems about me,” my mother says, she’s pouring her first glass of wine and her hands are shaking but she doesn’t feel it she doesn’t feel much of anything she’s on her third glass now she says “he was so in love with me” cut to glass number five and I swear to god she’s crying liquor now she says “I can’t believe he’s gone” and then she says “goodnight” and gets in bed next to him