there is something nostalgic in every part of you
in your thighs beneath my childhood frame
the crook of your neck pressed against my nose
your voice throughout the walls—yellow, burgundy, blue

the dull thump of your heart crashing
through your chest—up your bones
to your shoulders to your neck and your skin
reaching up through your body into my small ear

your breathing was deep and meaningful
slow and done with purpose (everything you did
had purpose) and, as a child always clings to their mother,
i tried to match my own breath to yours

-f.j.e.