You’re here, I feel your skin against mine,
Your tears graze the layers of my heart so thin,
I have you with me now, much as I may not understand the how,
But you could be gone tomorrow.
I want to text you,
My boss just called though,
I will come through to your house after work boo,
But you’re gone even before half-past ten.
You said you wouldn’t be long,
I waited at the seat closest to the door,
Passed out and slid to the floor,
But when I finally heard a knock,
it wasn’t you it came from,
They handed me a letter with a face sullen,
Invisible blood on their uniform.
So I speak to you here like I never want to think of you there,
I tell you how I feel because I never want to say I did not share,
I lay it all bare, because when you do leave,
I want to know that I gave you everything, down to the last pieces of me,
And I would love if you could do that too,
But no pressure; we’re only two texts in,
My third one is coming through.
Yours in the now,
Evans Mbora Campbell
Looking through a Present Tense Lens