your eyes reminded me of the old oak door in my bedroom from my childhood it wasn't always at 3 AM when i was writhing in the moonlight or when i smoked enough cigarettes to make my lungs burn like when i told you i had to leave you but it's at 5PM when i'm choking back my 26th cup of tea of the day and i can still taste you in every sip BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP REMEMBERING DANCING IN YOUR LIVING ROOM and it was a wednesday when you told me i was beautiful but **** that people always talk about how the sky is so beautiful but it's just a mess of overcrowded, dead stars i don't want to keep inhaling musty sunlight instead of your cologne i've been writing metaphors about your fingers and wasting paper on poetry about your smile and god, what i would give for a good day