I wish I forgot how to cry.

I forgot the way your body ached
After a long day.

I forgot the color of your favorite shirt.

I forgot the photographs you took
With your tongue sticking out at me.

I forgot how easily the drugs
Took over our lives.

I forgot the scent of your hair,
Littered on our bathroom floor.

I forgot your scars
And the stories behind them.

I forgot the needles
And the ghosts you wanted to forget.

I forgot how you'd sing to me off key
While strumming your acoustic.
And the way your basement gave me the creeps.

I forgot just how loud you screamed
When they called my name at graduation,
With your fist in the air
And how I was almost embarrassed by you
Almost.

I forgot how easily you made me laugh
And how difficult it was to let you go

I forgot.

I sat next to your headstone
With my face pressed against your name
Forgetting how to say goodbye.

And I wish I forgot how to cry.

Turning into each other
Like a rolling kaleidoscope
Humming vibrations of our vertebrae
Creating waves like snakes, shifting across diamonds
Darling, your eyes are the size of Saturn
The counter clockwise spinning of your iris
An alternate universe swirling inside them
The second hand is in high demand
The sun is breaking the mountains peak
A voice calls out not to speak
Lock your ears in the upright position
Slow melodic refrains
Echoing beneath the bed frame
Fatigue in our eyes, illuminating red hues
Burned out on the fork in the road.