The window haunts me
as I wither alone.  
Telling me lies
and looking like home.  
Sweet within you
is the home that I’ve known,
since childhood dwellings
were crumbling bone.

Where are we?
Where were you?
I don’t need forgiveness.
Where are we?
Where were you?
Please don’t deny us.

I miss you.

We spent our days
sleeping in the summers haze
and years being together.

No shoes, no worry
and no need to hurry.
The time was on our side.

In the bright morning sun,
through sprinklers we'd run
and eat honeydew in the shade.

But now in fruitless meadows we cry,
fearing that those lovely memories die,
but you and I shall remain alive.

She sits in the dark
clinging to wall spaces
where light switches used to matter.
The power's out.
He is her only light in a city turned black.
She fears the darkness.
It makes her skin curdle
like the warm milk sitting in the fridge.
The heat recedes slowly from the apartment.
He lights candles and brings her something to eat.
Her pulse steadys at the sound of his breathing,
but quickens as the winds thrash outside,
knocking trees, houses, people.
Inside isn't safe.
More often than not, danger draws her in,
but not now, not tonight, not with nature as a foe.
Her family has gone, evacuated with the rest of them.
So, she's alone, and
she sits in the dark,
with him.

You once said to me
you once told me
I've opened
sometimes, we are
sometimes, you are
You are mesmerizing
In New York, the city aches
biting through the flesh of July
Shy beneath you

I could make a home in the warmth of his arms,
my cheek pressed to his chest,
his pulse puncturing my ear,
breathing echoing in the small space.
The blue pools of his eyes could redefine the sky.
My ribcage could be occupied by his fingers
and we could be happy.

Sometimes I wonder if he was born
with those thin black fibers perfectly spread across his jaw
and that tired, intelligent shadow
beneath his eyelashes.
It was the swift eyebrow raises that got me.
It was the tiny smirks from across the room,
the glances,
the suggestion.
We were shoulders brushing,
eyes nestled on one another,
lowered voices,
pauses.

We were dangerous.

It's me.  I'm right here.  Don't sit there and pretend to wonder who because you and I both know which face popped into your head when you read those first two words.  I'm the "you" in your daydreams.  You might be curled up in an armchair, sitting at your desk in a classroom, perched on a park bench, or laying in bed and I might be across the room, across the world or cuddled up next to you.  Our sleeping patterns could be different, my hair could have changed, our common friends may have separated and our childhoods might be over.  We could be together, we could be apart.  I could be gone.  Or never here to begin with, but you know it's me and it's always been me.  Don't try play us out in your head.  Just relax, take a breath and stay with me for a while.

...And on those nights when the moon is as full as the sheets are empty,
I wonder if what he really felt was love.  
I wonder how the moon can be so completely filled with light
and never question whether it's really even light at all.  
I wonder if when he said it he meant it.  
Maybe he meant something else entirely.  
I wonder if the realization hit him years later
and I wonder if he thought I was worth telling.  
I wonder if my face popped into his mind
and I wonder if he thought about looking up my address
or if he'd ever driven past the old apartment.  
I wonder if I was worth the gas money,
if remnants of my body smothered in nostalgia
were worth those few extra dollars.  
I wonder if he ever thinks about it.  
I wonder if he questions what he didn't do .  
Did he realize what he meant
when his phone would buzz at three in the morning
and I'd be sitting on a sidewalk somewhere in the heart of the city
wanting him to take me home?  
Did he realize what he meant
when the candles were lit
and dinner was made
and I would plead with him
and my hair would be tangled in his hands,
but he was too tired to go further?  
Did he realize what he meant
when he couldn't say it back until the right time,
but the right time wasn't until warm mornings
when he'd still be half asleep
and my whispers wouldn't let him continue
so he said what he needed to?  
I wonder,
I wonder.  
I wonder why I didn't realize it
I wonder when he thinks of me.  
When the sheets are empty?  
When my old candles are finally burned down the wick?  
When the coffee *** collects dust in the cabinet?  
Does it make him wonder what I meant to him?  
Does he even realize?