Burnt

 
 
When I was a girl
I remember hearing Icarus
was the only one who truly knew loneliness,
and in my Midsummer
that you can be lonelier with someone
than without them
sitting in the inkwell
of almost having them
and not.
Well I, I think I know Icarus now,  
think I wash his face in my sink every morning,
think I know loneliness as a heavy head
resting a pillow away
before unresting
before rejection again,
think I know it in the way
I look at you,
you look at me,
a deep hollowing ravine.
My heart can't take it most days.
I don't know why she tries,
perhaps because she knows Icarus,
makes it more possible to dangle
between this world and next.