On My Own
Do you want me on my own
or should I be yours to own?
’Cause I can do anything between
a want, a need and a home.
But I can’t help you make me forget
the way you held my hand
that last warm day in the Fall of ‘17.
In to your thoughts I settle like sediment,
folding at the bottom of that last hold.
My tanned skin clouding up the bottle,
the cork slowly leaking, dripping,
sweet nothings on the stone floor.
Never sinking deep enough to disappear,
never quite rising high enough to burst,
I hang on.
I could sit beside you, arms limp by my side
like a rag doll waiting for the wave of the magic wand.
I could pretend the rest of the city doesn’t exist
its calls persistent like creatures unseen at night.
These hands he has held, why are they in mine now?
I try to add, subtract, multiply and divide it all,
Nothing works, none of it makes sense
Every equation remains unsolved.
My breathing shallow, my sleep disturbed,
Exhausted, delirious, perhaps maybe even drunk
My mornings and nights fight a tug of war,
under a desk I wait for the bomb that never drops.
My breathing shallows,
These hands he has held are in mine now,
I could sit beside you limp as a rag doll,
As I settle like sediment into your last hold,
Do you still want me as your own?
Emin Saglamer, December 2017