to the girl standing beside me on the train at eight-something am —

you are beautiful
heart-shaped lips and heart
on the sleeve of your soft cream coat
i find myself staring, openly
at your face and wondering
if you will look over
and notice me too
and what i would say if you do.

because you are beautiful and i
demand perfection, you see;
if those heart-shaped lips part
it must be to spill only
the most precise things
and you must understand every word
spoken back to you in turn, even if
those words come spewing in a water-rush
so fast that you could drown.

you must know every syllable as a molecule
and still see the scope of them as a sea.

you must cherish every word you are gifted
or my own teeth will still your words
inside your throat, before they rise
and spit them on the ground
in a spattering of blood.

i will not forgive a flaw.

because the girl on the train beside me
at eight-something am
i recognise as the lover of
my onceuponatime best friend.

and even now, after all
these years and years and
our happilyeverafter gone awry
that best friend still feels like my blood
and i would still spill anyone’s for her
before another heartbeat could pass.

and so for all our sakes
i hope like hell you are
as perfect as you seem.

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