the Florida sun and i
baked your memory
into the bricks of Winter Park
i built a home for you
amidst the concrete and stucco
off Mills and Thornton Avenue
outside a crowded little tea-house
we'd read our poetry out front
to choruses of snapping fingers
well after dark
before driving aimlessly
through Orlando streets
with a melancholy soundtrack
keeping us fixed firmly apart
i'd lay my hand like a fallen palm frond
well within your reach
praying to a god i don't believe in
that you'd tease the ink staining my wrists
with your pinprick fingertips
i remember when we
sat beneath the pine trees
i tried to look into your eyes
but the windswept clouds
drifted listlessly
and for a moment
i was blinded
i could've sworn that there
were constellations
where your
irises ought to be
a nebulous Andromeda
hurtling eternally
so send me a sign
through earthquakes
and light-waves
that i don't belong here
pining
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
the Florida sun and i
baked your memory
into the bricks of Winter Park
i built a home for you
amidst the concrete and stucco
off Mills and Thornton Avenue
outside a crowded little tea-house
we'd read our poetry out front
to choruses of snapping fingers
well after dark
before driving aimlessly
through Orlando streets
with a melancholy soundtrack
keeping us fixed firmly apart
i'd lay my hand like a fallen palm frond
well within your reach
praying to a god i don't believe in
that you'd tease the ink staining my wrists
with your pinprick fingertips
i remember when we
sat beneath the pine trees
i tried to look into your eyes
but the windswept clouds
drifted listlessly
and for a moment
i was blinded
i could've sworn that there
were constellations
where your
irises ought to be
a nebulous Andromeda
hurtling eternally
so send me a sign
through earthquakes
and light-waves
that i don't belong here
pining
pine:
—noun
any evergreen, coniferous tree with long, needle-shaped leaves
—verb
to yearn deeply; suffer with longing
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