if i was

this, this, this is how you let him go-

underneath lilac-colored veils and cream sheets crumpled in on themselves

you stroke his hair, a twist of caramel filaments burnt with a torch and set aside to cool-

but he refuses he refuses he refuses he refuses he refuses

to give back, because you are not a piece of his soul; he says.

whatever we are made of, he whispers, you are of ash and i of night.

if i was stronger, perhaps, i would’ve let you slumber

by the seraphs overlooking the cruel and beautiful sea

with a thousand feathers littering a thousand drops

of candle wax burning my annabel lee-

but i shall not

i shall never

let you go

and that is why i step out onto the breaking whitewater

with nothing but a ring in one hand

into the depths of what lies beneath.