with bones on fire and eyes like haze
i'll remember you, Giza in my stomach's pit and
your calligraphy present beneath blacklight,
forever- i've husked to be your Tut's tomb.
you'll remember how you taunted cumulus clouds to the edge of the earth
and, on your three-hundred, sixty-fifth day of sunlight,
never forget to miss how it cleansed your throat when you inahled.
i'll always remember the places i marked you mine with torment,
you'll only ever remember when you go to the river and it's low.
nostalgia will be the bookkeeper for every dew-drop and sink-trip,
the perfect imprints of my thumbs on your chrome; i hope you
live a life of love,
haunted by every path and groove and maze of the dunes in your dreams, and
know i'll be buckling someone else's
boots for our hike through fog and rain
and it took me forever to stop wishing it was
you.

you feel everything as deeply as you breathe,
but, honey-

if i got to wake up every morning
beside you.

i've got hollow bones and glass skin
so i know you can see just how much i ache
and pressed between that marrow rests
ink-dipped butterflies and sun-scorched jellies
and we know you can see how they struggle through every tide and hurricane
all for you.
i'm all cracks and fissures, baby,
all smoke-filled lungs and liquor-drowned liver
every depth of dark ocean and sky and mind
and i just need you to let me be your light;
i'll ready the soldiers apollo gave me, each sun in my smile ready to march on for you until
i have none left.
this isn't a burden, but a blessing.

i don't know what to do about this bright-eyed boy
with perfect teeth and banter,
i just know that he wants me to quiet the echoes of past lovers and
i'm so scared i'll only become another.

i'm missing a home
and it took me too long to realize that foundations aren't lovers or whiskey or blame
but support beams are made of hearts and i manage to take a sledge to every one that i've gotten
windows are gazes that look on me and love and care but i seem to go through life with eyes closed and brows furrowed
i'm missing a home that was once littered with flowers and herbs and safe
crisp lawns and gardens full of welcome and solid ground
who's walls were cemented together with ache and pain but healing and growth
who's patience capped off on high ceilings until i blew the roof in with dynamite expectations and explosive temperament
it once had scars but an eviction notice later & a few months time &, though they still echo under touch if you're searching with gentle fingertips, they've been painted over
and are over and it was a beautiful home then and a beautiful home now and
well- i moved around a lot as a child, i guess i just don't know what it's like to expect to keep a home of my own, but
**** do i know the pain of missing one.