i want to devour
my loneliness
& throw it up
on the page.
you told me once
poems need each other
the way humans do.

that night,
the moon was so bright
it wrote your shape
on the sidewalk.

you had eyes
as wide as mercury
& i remember
falling into you,
letting your hands
close around me
like an atmosphere.

in the morning,
was the sun.
in the morning,
you kissed me
in my sleep
& prayed for
the loud explosion
of Betelgeuse
so the sun
wouldn’t have to be
alone.

before you left,
i read you a poem.
you whispered
read two.

Malcolm Slutzky is a queer trans man and a phsyics student at Princeton University. In his free time, Malcolm enjoys playing Scrabble against himself and admiring things that are purple. His work has previously appeared in Blue Marble Review and Peach Mag. He can be found on Twitter @malcolm_ln.