in your back pocket

a poem about love and loss in friendship

when did i make my bed? my bed in your back pocket. 

i can’ t recall the moment, but i’m tucked in firmly.

the weave of this fabric surrounds me so tightly, almost oppressive the deeper I sink.

when did these bruises appear? these bruises on my lungs.

i wrap my bedding tighter but the bruises only grow deeper. 

is the air getting thin in here? here in your back pocket.

so bruised and a little beat, and quite warm and fairly deep. i’m not sure i’ll survive, should i stay or should i leave?

photo: Zofia Topor