Your skin still smells like, The first time I touched you: Like late Sunday afternoons, On long weekends, Sweeter than expected, With all the time in the world.
in class they asked us if we were afraid of the dark
no i'm not afraid of the dark that fills my room at two a.m.
i'm not afraid of the dark that engulfs underground caves or the darkness submerged deep in the atlantic ocean
but i'm afraid of the dark that seeps through every fissure and crevice of my splintered heart; the blackness that cascades through my veins and the gloom that fills my lungs (with no room for oxygen.)
yes, i'm afraid of a certain kind of darkness: the kind that can't be illuminated by a flashlight