I lost my virginity in the season of sweaters
sweating and shaking, straining to
picture a panoramic expression
I walked out of bed with a spring in my step.

Did you know I've carried you
little particles of pixie dust in the pockets of my jeans?
What I'm going to say is stupid,
cliche,
and so ******* unpoetic,

but I know that pixie dust was exchanged.
You may have burned, buried, or blown it away,
But I gave you little bits of my soul that day.

There is much to say, but to keep it contained,
every summer that you're gone, that you've traveled, turned from me,
I throw up, once or twice, let my acid heart burn
with longing, loneliness, and a lack of love.

Please, let me go, throw that dust to the wind.