Every Tuesday
for two hours you lay
with the sun through my window
bouncing off your skin.
The 166 hours after that you belong to someone else.
But for those two hours I love who I am.
In your pocket
you hold for me a laughter
which comes from somewhere deep inside me
so forgotten
I cannot find it alone.
For those moments,
you are the sun
held inside this part of me
which no one thought to touch…
(he couldn’t be bothered).
In this space created between us
I bloom…
and two hours
once a week
is enough
to remember who I am.
I am the moon.