I remember you, in the night last September.
It was cold, and you tasted
of the alochol we had illegally sipped
Smiling at each other over gem-rimmed bottles

I remember when we kissed, for the first time
That night in September
And it warmed me to my bones, and I could have stayed there
with you
forever

I remember your hands, last September
Touching the burning skin of my cheek, hooked in the belt loops
of my faded blue jeans.
I remember your eyes,
How they found the brightest star in that starry, starry sky,
And how your voice, whispered,
"That one's ours."
Your fingers fluttered at the hollows of my hips,
cold,
because you'd given me your jacket, and you
were freezing.

I remember you last September.
I knew you last September,
And I wish I had known myself.

I remember how it ended, when it ended,
That morning last September, so soon
after it began, "I've been thinking..."
And I remember, last September


hating you.

i know there are bigger things than me -
                                                  your music and your art
  but the way our eyes catch across the room?
that's big too.

                                                            and i know i'll write stories for you someday,
                                                                               and you'll pick out a song with my name,
                                                                           when your hands have nothing else to do
                                                                       (your restless musician fingers
                                                                                and my writer's ones always searching for something)

and i know i don't abuse your substance of choice,
                                                                                             but my substance of choice is you
                                      (and they said you quit,
                                       and i wonder if it was for me)

                                                         and even so -
               the way our eyes catch across the room?
that has substance too.