trying desperately to carve a place
out for you;                         snug
into the right side of my heart
as if you hadn't taken residence
up there so many years ago.

our memories slip
through my
fingers -
and i want my stupid, old
brain to keep them closer.

i'm torturing myself
wondering if i could
still make you smile
that soft sharp grin
kind of look
that seeps into
your tone,
indulgent and
warm and safe
all-over.

and how awful am i,
to have lived all this time
as if i could always find you
once more.

i want to call you back
so i can hear your voice again
and i swear i'll never listen
to another sound.

       please don't go.
for all i've wanted is to hold your hand.
you look so lovely in any color, i could
lose myself in your eyes if only you
turn around this
one time.

please god.
make me a necromancer.
i'll live and sleep in the dirt
wearing blood and soot as gloves,
ear-to-the-ground
forever listening
for that pin to drop:
spades
on hand for
the moment
your fingers stretch
out to seek mine;

i'll catch them this time.
         in catacombs
                       or in polished
                              american cemeteries:

                         i'll wait for
                         you.