She smelt of rain
Yes, I always did love the smell of rain
But she wore it in a way that the earth lowered in shame
She had walked nearly three miles to my door
I took her hand-
Led her in
And when her hair dried
The imperfections of the waves sat so perfectly on her head that they weren't imperfect at all-
They were apart of her beauty-
Precisely as she should be
Her lips were as subtle as ever but the slight quiver was something I had not seen before-
It enticed me
Drew me close
Pressed me against her chest
It untucked her blouse
And weighted gravity on my head-
Resting my lips upon hers
For minutes
And many minutes more
Until the skies drew clear
Until we laid hand in hand-
Skin to skin
Mind to mind

To this day
I could swear we were the life to that storm

(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro

that enormous oak we used to lay under
or you used to lie under
has been ripped from the earth

torn apart, broken, dying
gasping, searching
for a little hope

just like my heart

of course we had to fill the empty hole where the tree no longer remained

as I put dirt and broken soil to try to fill the void where you no longer were

a bee landed on my hand

sting

I'll have to keep the hole empty for now

as if the bee doesn't want me to fill it

as if you don't want me to fill it

maybe you still love me

maybe not

but either way

*it stings without you here

I drove out to your house last night
and your mom told me that you've been well.
And I don't know why that hurt so much.
But I've been thinking that maybe it was because,
you've moved on from the memories of us.
Maybe you've forgotten the scent of my body wash,
and it's ****** that I can still smell hints of yours in my sheets.
The night you left,
I drowned myself in a bottle of your favorite wine,
and I could've sworn I heard echoes of your voice in the ripples
of the dark plum liquid.
I spent the night throwing up into the sink,
and sobbing into the bath mat.
Maybe you've forgotten my electric-blue fingernails,
that traced lazy circles on the back of your hand.
Maybe you've forgotten the kisses I planted on the corners of your mouth.
Maybe you've forgotten just how much I begged
for you to stay.
Because I hear you've been doing well,
and I still can't listen to your favorite song without heaving.
I guess it hurts to be forgotten,
just as it hurts to remember.

I drove out to your house last night
and I crashed my Toyota into a street light on my way back.
The flickering light casted a shadow on the hood of my white car
and I noticed that it looked a lot like the ones we casted
on the night you first kissed me.
"She's lost too much blood," the paramedic wore the same cologne as you.
I screamed as they charged the defibrillator
full of the memories I tried to escape.
"Time of death: 1:35 AM."

You cried at my funeral.
I was sorry.

I guess it hurt letting go,
just as it hurts to be let go.