I loved you like a forgotten dream.
        Searing so vividly into
        the recesses of my cerebrum.
        Like fire.
        Setting my heart aflame with
        gasoline-slicked words
        that felt like a balm on my
        dry skin.

I loved you like the air after it rains.
        Breathe in, breathe out,
        but I could never
        get enough of you.
        If words could cradle
        a broken heart,
        as tangibly as callous-roughed hands
        and bumpy veins running like ivy
        down your arms,
        then drape me in letters
        and knit poems around my shoulders.

I loved you like light in an empty space.
        Because that is what you were.
        And even though you left,
        I still feel your warmth,
        still feel vestiges of heat
        tucked away in my dusty corners.
        Don’t fade.
        Don’t fade.
        Be the night sky that my eyes
        drink in like glassy pools of stars
        for a parched astronomer.
        Be a Category 5 hurricane, where I
        make a home in your center
        using pieces of stolen debris.

I simply loved you, and as much as I’ve tried,
I cannot find an image more beautiful than that.