mismatched socks,
blue and pink,
hands in the air making drawings—
childlike almost,
lollipop dangling from lips,
humming the tune from the little prince.

lying on the ground by the stairs,
head resting on a folded jacket,
the sun weaker, the clouds dreamy,
the voices in soft whispers.

the scent of bitter-sweet chocolate drifts,
dragonflies dance and trip in the air,
slow-blinking, eyes grow heavy, heavier.
sleep comes in, like a tight hug,
except it's arms pressing in from the sides.

whatever mist i’d sprayed
smells like childhood and stardust,
something akin to happiness
found in paradise.


the way a water droplet glides
down bare skin—
if you’ve been given something to hold,
do not drop:
a heart, a person,
a life, a decision.

truth glimpses like a shooting star,
awaiting my arrival to call.
here’s what you wanted to say,
words seep out in ways
i never considered were humane.

jammed the door on my hand,
had a candy even before i woke up.
if you saw my daily list of things,
you’d wonder if i ever really was.

moles—i tried to count them.
i wouldn’t want them to fade,
even though they change positions as i grow.
got multiple, more than a dozen.

i go over them: faded or dark ones,
pretty spots.
count them for me?
my favorite perhaps the one on my face,
or maybe the ones on my stomach—
everlasting comparisons in their wake.

nonetheless, there’s phonetic bearings of music in my ears,
perhaps the same few tracks i keep too close, too near.
walking through the fields,
hands caressing the tall bushes—
they leave behind an itch,
as grounding as it is stupid.

swinging haphazardly on the swings,
telltale signs of competition.
love it when the wind weaves,
roughening against the skin.

smothered in melted ice creams,
sticky hands—
only leaving the parks
when the swings scream retirement.

people following us, all sides,
asking what’s been up.
we stare at them, at each other,
pick up speed,
leaving it all far behind,
for our eternities.

woke up because the sunshine was too strong,
throat heavy, as if i’d eaten a stone.
blinked a couple of times, felt for you beside,
looked at you, sleeping your way through the bright.

held a hand over your face,
shielding you from eyes that found us in real life,
stared at you until sleep found me again.
i hope you’ve had the sweetest of dreams.


i’d aimed to tell you this—
to make a treasure chest,
a capsule of our memories,
hide it deep within, somewhere
under the earth
or perhaps in a closet space
that was seldom beckoned with.

we’d pick up pebbles,
write letters to each other,
crumple them up.
i’d bring half-burnt candles,
and a ticket from the movies.
you could pull out your inventory—
perhaps prints of our faces,
as cliché as it’d be.

we’d put things for the future us,
a list of dreams we hold currently,
and if it all works out,
a music box for each,
the tune that once echoed
against our bodies.

it’d be a quiet night,
and we’d dig up the space,
leave behind the box,
lock it up with codes
and otherworldly grace.

grinning like assembling pet peeves,
we’d walk far away,
having drawn maps
to where it lays
and thrown away the key to the lock
somewhere along the way.

the night is quiet,
the moon glistens—
from amidst the clouds,
it calls me up.

fireflies coincide.
my arm is numb.
the phone’s out of battery,
only the moonlight.

i don’t see you anywhere near.
the jacket’s still warm,
my shirt smells like you,
but you’re nowhere to be found.

can’t take your name—
feels like i’ve lost my voice.
there’s methodical ringing somewhere,
like the clanking of bells
and the screeching of coyotes.

and then i peer over—
the height shows someone in the distance.
we'd been lying at the very edge;
the world darkens, as if alerting.

it is you, down there:
hands bare, shovel thrown aside,
sweat beads rolling down your forehead.
but you work, solemnly through the night,
digging up the memories.


don’t look back,
didn’t even bother.

dug it up
’cause you missed what we were.

but why’d you burn it down,
like it was all yours?