with the taste of alcohol
still fresh on my tongue,
I lay in bed.

I wonder about you.
I think about the subtle
way your spine
arches to the side.

I think about your long legs
and heavy sighs as
I bury my head in my pillow.
I miss you so much tonight
I can hardly stand it.

I stay here and count the days
until I see you lay next to me again.

Rain drops fall on
the window pane.
I am reminded of your tears.
I can't forget the way
they used to slide down your face.
Gliding down your lips
and tapering off on your chin.
As they drop I catch them
with my fingers.

I used to thank god for
your entire being
every day.
Now your tears are the only thing
I can remember.

The rustic feel of
the electric oil lamp
is enticing. It gives this
shell of a home life.

The artifical light gives
this dark room meaning.
I want to do that for you.

I usually end up falling short.

"I promise it'll be better," I whisper.

She stares me down and says,
"we'll see".

Some days I still feel like the scared boy I once was. The same child who mouthed

                    "I love you"

from the mattress on the living room floor . I have never forgotten that shy smile you made. I remember you so vividly.

I can still see your playful eyes, and visualize the corners of your mouth as they reveal your sharp cainine teeth. I'll never forget that moment.

It's disheartening to learn that sometimes progress isn't made.

I may always be that terrified boy who is hopelessly in

                    love.