I slept before sleep.
I crept to some burrow of the earth and
wept as your footsteps
pressed upon my sallow chest.

I began to reminisce an ache
that did not yet exist.
As you felt the ghostly déjà vu
of a faded tune I played for you.

I tried to write you poetry,
but blank verses fell faster than I could chase them, fireflies
dancing out of reach
their bright light taunted me.

I once read the world splits lovers apart
One alive, gazing — night full of stars.
The other buried with brittle bones, forgotten artefacts.
But then I didn’t know

that from my slumber I awoke
As you brushed the dirt from my cheek.
From then, I did, I did, I did,
Dear now, I do.