I take two showers a day now.

Mainly because I’ve been sweating bullets and tar.

Cleansing lightning and your thick black ink out of my pores.

Vintage sweatshirts on the beach and a dining room sky.

A pair of haunting eyes going down the drain a little more each time.

I keep your silver close. I haven’t forgotten.  

I feel it cold against the bones in my neck, good memories tears and chills down my spine.

Soft kisses and a storm, wisteria tapping on your window. Whispering our secrets to the neighbors.

When our bodies melted into one against  purple plum thunder.

Letting go is like trying to sell a wool sweater in the summer.

I’ll always remember loving you no matter the weather.