She said she’d love me for the rest of her life—

My luck has it that she’s secretly a ghost,

Studying the mechanics of my earthly form.

She makes note of my presence like I am a dying lilac—

Radiant and fragrant for a single week in May

And then back to withering brown decay.

We met under the yew tree.

I gave her the last vacant room in my heart.

She promised she’d be a model tenant.

For as long as I let her stay,

She kept lovers in boxes

And locked me away for the day she was ready to settle down.

I carved her name in my bones.

She branded a lipstick stain on my neck—

I belonged to her

But she had a wandering eye

And only cracked me open when boredom became a parasite.

Sweet nothings that sound great coming from her mouth,

Leaving an indignant aftertaste.

I asked her if she was ever going to become a permanent fixture in my little podunk town.

She said she was a snowbird,

Flying to me when my disposition is sunny

But my begging made her feel trapped

And so she migrates south as I start to get attached.