I love the burn in my stomach when I give too much life to my newport: never fresh but always filled with light,
a killing spree of my soul.
You are that taste in my toes.
A tingle in my chest that confuses itself with the victim instead of the one that's penetrating my lungs. Purple air kisses you in your gray eyes, turning redder, redder, redder. They remind me of the blood that drained from the sunset when you told me you loved me. The moon might have looked pale that night, but wait three months.
You'll see my face in the blanket above us, in the intimate white stars, and you will never
forget me.
You'll remember my quick breathing whenever you got too loud, hoping
no one would ever find us.
You'll remember my humming along to the radio at 4 am, to all your favorite songs.
You'll remember when my hair was newly blackened with stench from the fire in your backyard, just like your voice in the wintertime. You'll remember me never letting you get too close.
You'll remember that you love me.
You'll remember that you've always have.