i came to this year, this month
this day, with you taking up the whole
of my heart, i have watched
the sun rise through the window
of my bedroom to steal itself
into the sheets where we made
what i thought was love,
sneaking jealous shafts that came
to wake me from the dream of
what we were and i suppose that
in the grand illusion of your arms
you never saw the light in my eyes
a glow now all but gone
retreated from transparent panes
and i am cold in this reflection
seeing myself for the first time
with a clarity your elaborate deception
kept in the dark
they say that all writers are liars
but the truth is
we only write the lies we're told