i guess maybe the problem lies in the fact that my
memories are so falibile,
dizzying. i guess maybe the problem is that i’ve
beaten this dead horse a million
times already. i guess maybe the problem of finding an individual memory
stems from the fact that you
have always been sunshine
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. there are 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
collarbone. it’s sunny, red, a desert landscape that feels like
home.
i can taste apple soda out of a glass bottle, and it brings me to the cemetery
across the street from the grocery store, 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.

i can see the pedestal that you
get put upon-- by me by me by me--
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,
you’re not
apollo.
you’re just
the memory
of home,
breathlessly grinning.