if you were to think of me

i would like your thoughts to be
like the shades of the moon
with just the right amount of
dark
and
light
but with enough power to pull the tides
i would like to think that your first thoughts of me
would be the
blue-black-purple-red of
bruised knees
and pomegranate wounded arms
i would like to think that when you see sandpaper
you think of my hands
after hours of farming
or my tongue after
a few too many shots of whiskey
i would like to think that when you see a pack
of blue american spririts that you will be reminded
of me
but i don’t want to be remembered
like the taste of stale cigarettes in your mouth
i would like to think that when you see
e.e. you think of my words
but i probably haven’t shown you these poems
scribbled in journals that have
been lost in my car
or under undone laundry
i would like to think that when you see
a beehive you will think of the hum of my voice
and the way i eat too much honey
and maybe think of me in sweetness
but we both know i'm more like vinegar
and that
this is all just silly
romanticism
because no one
thinks of
people in shades of the moon