i guess maybe the problem lies in the fact that memories are so falibile,
dizzying. i guess maybe the problem is that i’ve beaten this bush a million
times already. i guess maybe the problem stems from the fact that you are always sunny
to me. i can taste grape and feel like i’m choking, six pieces of gum and nothing but overwhelming
laughing laughing laughing.
i can feel the texture of letter tiles as we spell out nonsense inside jokes inside our own bubble
of comfort. i can feel the stitches in my sides: you have always been my favorite, you know?
“every day feels like summer with you,” stitches
stitches in my sides, falling apart at the seams
in the best way i’ve ever known. everything good is with you; every sunshine, warmth upon my skin, cloudless
skies, they’re all you, laughing. laughing. laughing.
i can hear the buzzing in my skin, the beehive sound of a tattoo gun inking your laughter into my
skin. it’s sunny, red, a desert landscape that feels like feels like home.
i can taste apple soda, out of a glass bottle, and it brings me to cemeteries across the street from
price chopper, feeling edgy in our private-school uniforms sitting on tombstones. other people,
other friends. they’re there too, but right now all i can see is you: laughing, sunny, haloed. maybe
i can see sometimes the pedestal you get put up on, and then i open the door to your black kia soul
and i can hear myself complaining about all the trash i have to move. you’re no helios, not apollo.
just
home.