After A Year
We’ve dated through all 4 seasons now.
The honeymoon phased into whatever comes after.
Lying still as I’m in the morgue next to you,
shrouded in moonlight, I wonder if you are bored.
If the tiara I’ve been wearing all this time
tinged cloudy and murky over a fortnight.
How quickly passion can drip from our fingertips,
leaving us bewildered at its temporary and fickle heart.
I want to whisper in your ear that you were born to be mine
and I’ve been building myself into the witch of
your dreams for many days and many nights.
Aimee Nicole is a queer poet currently residing in Rhode Island. She holds a BFA in Creative Writing from Roger Williams University and has been published by the Red Booth Review, Psychic Meatloaf, and Dying Dahlia Review, among others. For fun, she enjoys attending roller derby bouts and trying desperately to win at drag bingo.
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