I still find traces of you;
In my popcorn ceiling I see the outline of your torso,
Hollow.
You echoed when you would say my name
The lining of your lungs were padded with sticky notes,
Reminders of doctors appointments and birthday parties.
You would forget the simple things,
Not because you wanted to make room for the important ones
Like storing old photos in boxes,
Tucking them away on shelves to collect dust,
But because to you, simplicity wasn't worth a photo album.
The corners were tucked and folded,
Bent into paper swans.
And then thrown away in trash cans,
Recycled,
Into something more complex,
Like black matter and fairy dust.
I still find traces of you;
On doorknobs and coffee mugs,
And hollow things.

My feelings contradict the words that spill from my mouth
Like melted daggers falling like stars, shining..
And my actions contradict themselves, fists white knuckled and raw, an outstretched palm reaching towards your body
Begging to stay
Asking to leave
Demanding
Sew my mouth shut and
Tie my limbs down
Just rest your head against my chest so you can
Listen to the erratic heartbeat that plucks harp strings and horsehair

As I floated into the night sky
Near the stars
Near the heavens
I wondered if you were looking up
Thinking of me
Because I, as the little piece of sky that I am,
Looked down
Thinking of you;
The little piece of ground that you are.

Although my heart aches for you, the stars stay the same.
They do not mourn over my aching soul that weeps in sorrow.
Nay, they stay painted on the night’s sky looking down --
They feel no pain nor grief as I bend over in agony
Reminiscing the way your silhouette would stand in the doorway
Although my heart cries with loss
Although my soul weeps
The stars stay the same.

Your hands are cold,
But they are able to make
Even the smallest touch
Onto skin
Spark into flames

I have gnawed your name onto the inside of my cheek
Like carving love notes on willow trees
And I have painted your portrait on the back of my eyelids
Romanticizing the outline of your jaw
Like an artist would his brush
And my skin remembers every brief moment when
Your hand and would brush against mine
Like the leaves on the willow tree
With your name
Carved into
Its bark