Aaron Gogna
I wore you on my sleeve, but
Mother warned I’d outgrow clothes
Long after they’d outgrown me.
And here we are—
Dimly lit skies; dark horizons in the dead of night.
This road on which we stand and spar
Has grown us both, and now will starve
My dreams and every sleep will host its feast upon my feeble mind.
I memorized each crease
On concrete slabs that laid and now will play as
Steps that walk on me.
And here we are—
I see the stars, and yet you focus on the black that lies between.
You once said my flaws were petty fragments;
Now those flaws are canyon-wide gaps between
Who I am, and who, by now, you thought I would have been.
Leave and I will stand here on the street
To watch you march along this sphere
Until you walk back into me.
And here I’ll stay.