things will do for now
until it changes again
slightly

You’re orange to me
When we met at the beach
The passenger door light
Lit your face a warm peach

So orange we’ll be
As the sun goes down
A ripe mandarin
That never goes brown

Your freckles are in all the wrong places,
There should be one on the back of your hand

And one on your knee, a little to the right
That you can see when you sit but not when you stand

He had one on his neck also, I used to trace every day
On the ***** where throat turns to shoulder

Your freckles are wrong, its alright, that's okay
Lets put our clothes back on before we get colder

I wish every bump in the road
Was a towering alp

Face lit by the sun
From basement to scalp

Should each crack on the asphalt
Become deep fissured cleft

I wouldn’t care much
Or feel particularly bereft

If the train should pass
Across the tracks on our way

My hand could stay in yours
While we wait the delay

Anything to keep you
From leaving much too soon

Another hour, minute, second
Just a handful or teaspoon

I feel it most when he’s gone,
At first it doesn’t feel like much
But the bruise on the cheek where he kissed me
Only gets sweeter to the touch

Like salt left on skin
From a swim in the sea
The remnants of him
On my body debris

My heart is bleached
By the sun of him
When he leaves, I’m still his
Every bone, every limb

I got on the go-away train
The same one I wished on while you were gone

My bags all packed for the plane
One last hope left in the side pocket

A hope you might not let me go
Squished between my toothbrush and t-shirts

But we both listened to the whistle blow
And you watched the go-away train take me

How could you let there be oceans between us?
When I can barely stand a centimetre

Why, when you just sit there motionless,
Do I have to crawl the earth to keep up with you?

My best friend doesn’t talk very much,
He listens sometimes, nods his head and such.

He sleeps all day, loudly most times,
Unbothered by me or nickels or dimes.

He smells damp, his feet are warm
Circled next to my head when my mind is a swarm.

My best friend always knows what to say
If the piles of stones in my head start to weigh.

In that, he doesn’t talk, or even really touch,
He just listens sometimes, nods his head and such.