you hold him,
black hair against cold skin you hold him
even though youre still in blue spring
and he's somewhere else. somewhere over hills youve only seen pictures of, flowers and tall grass tying around your ankles.
like an ocean, when the wind runs through it right

he laughs on top of the hill you were supposed to walk up,
when its sunset by the lake
(the place no one would find, not for miles of blue water)
you were supposed to. you were supposed to sit under the little tree and sleep over rocks
supposed to cry little words into his shoulder,
supposed to hold him. supposed to hold him and stay there until flowers grew from your ribcage,
little twisting vines blooming gerber daisies

so you do. you reach your arms across oceans, scan skylines
walk across realities until you get to the picture of the hills,
the one with the oil paints your mother saw once, in a town with no name
and when hes not there you wait until they find you first. (it takes till summer)