To think that the planets might have been misguided
when they let your star sign almost be my rise;
they would never have guessed
how in twenty years my sockets would confine
sullen, sunken eyes
surrounded by darker spaces,
recurring insomnia I try to hide.
Worn-out clothes now, twice my size.
You gave me the longest summer of my life.

I hate my voice booming static
on the other end of the line.
I miss all my old friends,
and I can't figure out why
I wait in my tower for a knight,
but when at long last he comes
I'd throw him out the window
expecting him to survive.