I have tried to forget you.

                          *But it's just to hard to forget when your *** wont wash off of my favorite sweater.

It made scallops on my shirt, dried like salt
in seashells —
the final appearance of our love.
I
could have mourned it
as if it were more than the possibility of life
disguised by a million tadpoles. A whole

day, it took him to get home
it may be even more
miles than my body fluids travel in a week.
His, still on my shirt. Hits my knees

(always the knees, have built oceans on them)

He thinks he left, but it was I
who cleaned sand castles from all my crevices

he thinks he left, he
the snail
I have
caught up in years of needing to be ******.

He thought he left, but white beaches
are still in my dresser —
it is what remains.
I am so tempted to say, "your *** outlived you"
but it would not be the
first time his **** did the work for him.

a brunette gone blond,
with a green hat to match,
they called me link,
after the hero in the game.
just a quiet lad,
wandering the earth,
i came across a small girl.
she was around my age,
my mates called her zelda,
after the princess that needed saving.
she was a honey blonde,
cherry lips and a doll face.
fate brought us together,
and death separated us.
if i were the actual hero,
i could have saved her.
but in turn it's the hero
that needs the saving in the end.