I still remember the sound
of your voice, (but
only if I start with my name) the
smell of your room in high school, the
salt of your lacrosse sweat
met with crushed Virginia grass, the
stale but inviting stash of ditch **** in your drawer
from before we knew better, those
fleet heart beats in the back of
your red two-door
when you held my face in your hands
when you kissed me and gave me my heart
when you told me you love me first