It's funny how
things like
opening and closing
the windows
with the daybreak
stick in your mind.

I asked him how he dealt
with his father-loss
babbling the words out
in all my anxious longing.

"I know, Son,"
his voice came
from across the world
like a Father's always does.

"That tightness
in the chest...
Yes,
I know."

I had never felt closer
to another man.

I had never felt more
like his son.

I had never felt
more understood.

A gradient of gravel
rough, coarse,
thins,
and the asphalt cries
tears of tar
where you once parked.

You're moving out,
a bit at a time,
coming back for everything,
except me.

I watched as your makeup fell
from the bathroom sink
we'd shared all this time.

As it struck, like us,
it played out like a universe birth,
reds, browns, purples...
spraying out in a cone before me.

I've been dead,
cold,
heat-death.

And when I woke
I watched as
your makeup
hit the floor.

And we are pouring away
like the words
that won't
stop coming.

And we choke down
like the pain
that won't
stop coming.

Who am I?

When you took me down
we spin through memories
of brilliant star skies
when you were so happy
and nothing mattered
and you had your innocence
and I had you.