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