sweet blue dreams.
how I miss the feel of your shoulder
pressing in on my worn frame.
I am not a crow, and I won't linger.
yellow dusted windows and faint scratches.
you are but a simple muse to me now.
cracked faded pages.
ever driving. ever haunting.
my heart is shallow and full of red flowers.
I am not a lover of many words,
but those contained within this
nimble writing are yours and yours alone.
where is your face.
if I could stare into it one last time I'd bloom.
combust into brilliant primary colors.
you were a brief encounter on a large whim.
what are you now.
a poet.
a lover.
the latter would rip me in two.

I'm too loud.
And quiet.
And a list of other descriptions.
I want to see the lake.
The last morning together.
You're so warm.
I feel as though you're my sunflower,
And I won't pick you.
I won't ruin your beauty.

What a warm afternoon.
What a thorn you've become to my brittle heart.
Our mustard yellow tent is torn.
Our eyes cannot meet again,
For they're fixated on the horizon.

What an evening.
A beautiful moment.
What time are we?
Grow dim with me in this evening fog.
This memory is fading slowly.
You have no color left.
We have no moments left.

I could melt into you.
on any day.
in any temperature.
let me be your shade.
your relief.
the 20 minutes before your class starts.

the way you steep in cool rain.
give me all your small thoughts.
form me in clay.
scatter me as if I were made of leaves.
throw me into the nearest river.
drown me.
drown with me.
for one moment.
no.
more.
please let this be more.

I don't love you.
I suppose I'll have to tell myself that.
For days.
For years.
For eternity.
For the lost love we shared on that street.
And all our saturated days together.
I don't love you.
Even now it's a lie.
April. Warm up my bitter heart.
Let this dreary snow rest in ribbons of warm sunlight.
I don't love you.
You are the sun.
And the snow will fade slowly into soft steam.
And fall again when the sun meets it's end.
Then, I will stop loving you.
I might.

you lit up that dim, dreary corner of my favorite bar so well.
breathed new life into the beaten oak that showed key shaped serrated scars.
i beckoned for more drinks and you sat still.
i raved about the symmetries we shared in our interests.
a quiet smirk appeared on your rose colored lips.
i'm a quiet admirer.
a subtle suitor.
a ****** man wishing to **** the rest of my life away for a drink more near you.
i want more small conversations with you.
small words only we share.
in a shrunken room full of drunken slurred drink orders and half meant compliments.
i want you to see me, more than anything I have ever wanted before.
i'll give every poem I've ever written, if I could just remain here a bit longer with you.

hearing those fragile words.
i had never felt more seen.
more felt than in that moment.
i was really just a gentle stir in many nights.
for many women.
but tonight, felt honest.
tonight, had become a separate charring entity.
it filled our conversational air with a breath of warm life.
one I had long since forgotten.
it was almost combustible.

this is the compilation of every laugh.
our Sunday walks.
moments spent in cities we explored.
all the paintings we glimpsed together.
meals shared with crooked enjoyable smiles.
tiny slight brushes of our hands searching for one another.
thoughts, brilliant or otherwise.
everything we once were.
everything we were going to be.
this is all that's left of us,
sealed in iconic black lettering.