The sun is a hot bruise

The sun is a hot bruise, 

lighting up the now cold bed 

where we once laid— 

Even though  

I will never tell you 

where I’ve been, 

I will wait forever  

for you to call out 

my name again 

as I search your name feverishly in the sky. 

Our names could have been entwined, 

sheltered from the jealous sun— 

but you disappeared  

without leaving behind any possible plans. 

I now lie in this bed, used. 

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