I have
a confession to make;
that I go to sleep every night
hoping you'll visit me
in my dreams
that I like smelling your hoodie
when you're not with me
just to make sure
you weren't a dream-
that blue punch-buggies make me laugh
and sour green apple Jolly Ranchers
make me smile
(by the way, my last two cavities
are all your fault)
I confess that I read over our conversations
so I can hear your voice,
and play  back every kiss
we've ever shared-
That I think of you
when I'm sad
when I'm excited
when I'm angry
when I'm happy
And oh,
before I forget,
I stole your flip-flops
the day before you left-
sorry
I was going to return them-
honest.
And by the way, I do confess
that I miss you
a rather lot.

The shruckling brook twists around
the underbrush, ferns, and green little brots
making it's clean path through
the wild turns of the otherwise
confriggalus jungle.
It chuckles and burbles and babbles,
And trammles and jackles and plurks,
on its very merry way
plarfling to itself,
smelling the strungent perfume
of the zurplagot flowers,
tasting the salty stebbles
tickling its feet.

She called him her cherry
because of his bright cheeks-
               and he called her his daylily
                              (she wasn't sure why,
               but she liked it)

               He was patient and protective
               and liked the way her socks never matched
                              and the way she ate muffins (upside-down)

                              She was impatient and prideful
                              but she liked the way he read (eyebrows furrowed furiously)
               and his squinting, laughing eyes.

They were always having small fights
and once she heard her pride say-
"I'll never talk to you again."
               she never thought his eyes could look so sad
               when he slowly nodded at her
she wanted to scream.

Her life continued as years passed
and she met a boy she grew to love
               but who never quite understood
               why she ate muffins the way she did.

One day, as she was packing
               preparing to move across the country
she found a dried, wilted daylily
               and she cried herself to sleep that night, hating herself
                              wondering if he ever felt the same of cherries.