when you left, I kept parts of you with me.
I still have the leaves you picked
up off the ground at the beginning of fall
when the trees were changing colors.
I held onto the notes you wrote me,
simply telling me that I looked nice
and wishing me a good day.
I wonder if you sign your name the same way.
I have a photo of us that was taken at a wedding,
the photographer followed us around all night.
he probably thought we were in love.
I thought we were too.
you dug yourself so deep into me,
now there is just a huge gap.

- about someone I loved.

I wonder how many
times we've looked at
the moon at the same time.
it knows how to follow us.

if only we had known
the amount of love
the moon still had
for us.

after all, she's the only
one that sees us
when we're alone.

sometimes there is more
than static in my mind.
there is noise
and then silence.
but when you speak,
my whole world goes quiet.

a universe of words
pour into my mind
and out of your mouth.
technicolored patterns
fill my eyes.
you are a beaming light,
golden and blooming
as we jump into a
pool of stars.

all I ask of you,
don't buy me flowers.
take me to a garden.
for I get sad when they die.
when they are ripped
from their roots
in the ground.
their time for
growing is up.
they can no longer
have conversations
with the sun
or the grass
or the rain
as it kisses them
so softly.

the mornings play a
hysterical game of
forgetting the night
and putting it back
together piece by piece,
thread after thread
so delicately by sundown.
the demons don't care
what the milkmen have to say.
they're so easily forgotten.
until they climb out of their
little houses.
they tug on the thread each visit,
unraveling.
they will swallow you whole.
the milkmen are waiting with the sun.
they great me with a smile and a sweet touch,
like sun rays on pale skin.
but the demons bring stars with them.
they grab my hand as cherry red drips
of my fingertips.

what once was yellow
has been covered grey.
pieces of their lives
turned into mosaics.
all you see is the golden
dreams turn into pillow seams.
every night you think.
drips of memories
seep through the concrete creases.

-about my old house, but also about me.

the sun has always
just been the sun to me.
nothing more, nothing less.

but then I met you
and the sun was not
only what lights
the earth,
but it is a golden
blanket.

I feel the sun on my skin,
and you touch me,
and it feels the same.