RITUAL
Each morning he makes one side of the bed,
rises fire faced without thanking the sun.
Knowing that should he ask you to be less,
you would unpack yet more dreams to curl up tighter in him.
Before your eyes, he will set ablaze your options.
(It shall warm you from the bitter winds of rejection)
How quickly you learnt to apologise of his relentless desires
to climb inside you and wear you like a suit.
No-one tells you when to leave.
Hands consumed by shame, that never learnt
to lay your own place at crowded tables.
Too busy trying to catch the scraps of confetti
he once threw inside your chest.
You check the seatbelt on his love
before nosediving into the swell.
Once you have let him hang his portraits inside your heart,
told your happiness to catch up with you.
You were not made to love him.
You shall place galaxies in hands that grip tighter than yours.
But haste, before he leaves with every ounce of softness
the moon whispered into you.
– Barney Evans
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Barney Evans is a queer London based performer and writer whose work has been shared in publications such as Popshot and Fruitcake. He performs with queer theatre company The Shame @theshamecompany.
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