I've been thinking a lot about
cherry coated kisses, and
the sunlight in the evening.
I've been dreaming about
the scar on your eyebrow,
how I'd always brush my fingertips across it.
I won't step into parks without nostalgia's
fleeting ghost, and
I can't taste a lovers lips
without your impulse running in.
I guess I could forget even the smallest
parts of you, but
my body knows your ghost and
just can't seem to let it go,
or how I pulled you in so feverishly
and slammed my lips to swap the spit
with yours and,
you smiled like a little boy.