that white floral perfume
by michael kors reminds
me of the day we scaled
the abandoned house
down Picnic Point Road
and I took pictures of
Kaitlin framed against
the red flowering currants

We found the beauty in careless
graffiti and marveled at the way
the sun sparkled on the charcoal
shingles. That summer we buried
ourselves in orange honeysuckle
and irrationally proclaimed our
friendship (that never lasted)
but i remember sitting
on the roof with you.


I remember that, amidst
the evergreens.

I don't remember what
movie we watched that
night but it was before we
got those christmas lights
and there was an airport
( I think). Your room was
a plum house, your bed,
on the right side of the room
against the wall, Why do I
remember knives? Were we
eating? This is what I do daily,
pilfer my own caverns for memories
and try to piece them together
but for the life of me I can't
remember what we were
watching.

I don't want you to become
another foreign thing in my
closet and inside
I ask myself what I expected
What I was hoping? Every
secret thought, I don't capture
them all.

And your memories: those I
deem property of Chris inside
my head, play on a spanish loop
with He Venido on low in the background.

I don't plan on getting rid of you.
Or forgetting you, or burying your
face behind stacks of books, The Count,
The Little Prince, A Clockwork Orange,
Things Fall Apart, and most of all the
Lemony Snicket hardcover that you
hid condoms in, the ones we never
used.

I have tried to document you because
I hope that it will help or that you will
see these things, but I have taken your
willpower for granted.  You perhaps
write nothing of me, maybe in a
diary maybe no where maybe
I am buried, maybe I am gone
maybe you have ripped out
my pages, my pictures, my
hair from thoughts no longer
strays on your bed, maybe you
have chosen to move on.

I don't want to end this poem.

your birthday
is this month
i remember
telling you
about how
my ex always
texted me on
my birthday
(we usually
laughed)


but now what
do I do when
we're so close
to that wound
do I just not
say anything
at all?