i prematurely miss you,
dreading the day i no longer know you,
the day your heart no longer beats for me,
the day you no longer kiss my forehead
and twirl my hair around your finger
absentmindedly.
i dread the day you no longer tell me
“i love you”
at least 10 times a day,
(just in case i forget)
the day you no longer write poetry
inspired by me,
the day you no longer want to grow up and start a life in the city together,
grow old and live out one life together.
i dread the absence
of my name in your mouth,
your cologne in my sheets,
my clothes on your floor.
i dread the day
i no longer know you.
-a.c.b

i can’t do this anymore.

my tears are made of paper and
origami cranes are floating down my cheeks;
your eyes have never looked so gold
and mine have never looked so grey,
something tells me those cranes aren’t
waterproof-
they are filling with water, disintegrating into
rivulets of water and paper
my eyes are hardening every time i look at you
while yours are melting;
my cranes no longer have the strength
to fly.
-a.c.b

give me a bottle of cheap whiskey
a pile of unread books
and a flickering lightbulb
and i will show you my idea of
a good time.

give me the summer of ‘16
a bottle labeled perfume
and a white, empty canvas
and i will heat you glass out of sand.

give me a plane ticket and passport
an old rickety suitcase
and an Italian dictionary
and i will show you the world.

give me a worn leather journal,
a bleeding ballpoint pen
and my olive-skinned muse
and i will write you the universe.
-a.c.b