i can’t spin
any of the records
we listened to
anymore—
you’re constantly
in the background,
singing along.
i feel your hand
brush mine
when the needle drops
on ****.
and 808’s pop off.
you infuse the tunes
that croon
like lullabies,
reminding me
that you’ll remain
forever in my
Peripheral Vision.

few sensations
are as serene
as the warm kiss
of the sun’s lips
on a cold day.
a gentle reminder
that even amidst
the bitterness
and suffering
there remain
rare moments
of joy.

have you ever
been homesick
for another
human being?
for the doors
that open
like her arms
to admit you,
for the secret place
where you alone play
between her legs?
what’s a man to do
when a house
is no longer
a home
and the pangs
remain the same?

there are scars
that cut too deep
to stitch
back together,

hurts that dull,
but never
truly
lose the ache.

some wounds
never heal
and can only
be mourned

alone.

i hate this town
and all the memories
tied to it
like broken symmetry,
loose wires
misfiring
in a fragile mind.

flea markets
and dog parks,
the Orpheum
and Foundation,
every inch
of this
coastal city
whispers quietly
of you.

each moment spent
in this ******* apartment
is a constant reminder
that waking up
beside you
felt like coming home.

there’s a gap on my bookshelf
where The Deathly Hallows used to sit.
i lent you the seventh text
when you left for rehab
and haven’t seen it since.
you’ve been holding on to it for me.

the absence reminds me fondly
of the way you used to etch the wand,
stone, and cloak into my skin
with your fingertips,
searching for the pulse
thundering in my wrist.

it’s been nearly a year since I held you
on the drive up to Gainesville.
you’ve been clean now
for over five months.
like coal, you weathered the furnace
and emerged priceless as diamond.

i miss you like a thunderstorm
raging over an empty sea.
i miss you like morning dew
hiding in the shade of flower petals.
i miss you like old photographs
stored in dusty boxes
in forgotten corners of the attic.

i miss you like twilight
skipping quickly from dusk to evening.
i miss you like the swig of coffee
lingering, unloved, at the bottom of the mug.
i miss you like family movies,
glitchy home-videos Mom takes out
to soothe the passing tides of anxiety.

i miss you like lyrics
to a song i haven’t heard since i was fifteen.
i miss you like lemonade stands
in the midst of Florida summers, hot and sticky.
i miss you like the space suspended
between two seconds, trapped in a gap
to which i return infinitely.