Ghosts trapped in the same house. All this furniture and decorations collected and displayed to become cruel. reminders of our demise. Waking up in separate beds, in separate bedrooms to a day that has different hours. …

I know a version of you, you haven’t met. His eyes intensely fixed in mine, his body pensive and determined. He doesn’t search for reasons why not, he knows what he wants. His arms wrap around me like deadly lust stricken anacondas with no other choice than to take me…

You instinctively glance back at the mirror to study your reflection but it’s not there anymore. There are no poems for you, nor any school of wailing ladies swimming in receding rocky lakes of sorrow. Every part of you has been replaced, your lines rewritten, reimagined, your role re cast. A celluloid worm on the editing floor curling with cramps of joy. Our producers running the numbers one more time, the audience polls confirm, without you the show can and will go on. The B movie is over the credits roll. It’s official you aren’t here now and you weren’t there at all.

E. Saglamer

Photograph: Dougal Waters/Getty Images

I dispatch our ships in to the high seas of the embroidered plastic table cloths clipped to old tables on their last leg. The dripping water melon juice meets an army of seeds that know no commander in handkerchief. Our affections blind to the boundaries of that no man’s land, travel from the safe lands to the mine fields. My head hangs off of the picnic blanket like a waterfall flowing to a valley of disbelief. The inappropriate smirk on my face beckons the mercy of the bees. My protests forever silenced by your lips. I melt into the high grasses, the underbrush, the mud, the rustling trees tattooing my skin. I exhale and allow myself to get lost in this. Alas, this may at last be bliss.

is as much a gift as
Your presence.

Cause only when
I don’t have you here
can I appreciate fully
How nice it is to
have you here.

E. Saglamer

Sitting across the dirty table
in this greasy derelict diner
with a grin on your face
that can only be sustained
by someone that’s building the strength
to tell me it’s over.

You start your words
and like a train rushing by
the sound shifts, the colors fade
windows fog up, my plate cracks
and the coffee turns…

E. Saglamer

Chaos is in you, it folds with every beat of your heart. You find me here and now; But I am already gone to join forces with the enemy of time.

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