it is summer again, and
we are getting high underneath
the tanglewood bridge

our shoulders stick together
with sweat, one of us coughing,
inexperienced, the other
laughing

it is summer again, and
i don't remember a day when i
didn't want to spend
all my time with
you

I miss being in love with you.
I miss lighting up every time you came into the room.
I miss the feel of your skin against mine.
I miss feeling like our souls connected every time we touched.
I miss reaching for your hand and not being able to keep the silly smile off of my face.
I miss late night conversations that would go on and on because we had so much to talk about.
I miss writing letters to you
I miss getting letters from you.
I miss the look in your eyes when you said “I love you.”
I miss the million conversations we held with just our eyes.
I miss the look that passed between us every time we dropped into perfect harmony.
I miss hearing you sing.
I miss hearing you laugh.
I miss the easy way we talked about forever.
Life dropped an atomic bomb on our picture-perfect future. My heart shattered in the blast and I’m still infected by the fallout.
I’m sorry.
I miss you.

There is a married feeling
dark soft and warm
snuggled against my back
between seas of blankets.

Soft breathing, warm skin
and i am scared to roll over
into the wisdom of your beauty

because I don't want to
disturb you.

here I am
             in the ground
                            my mouth
                            open
                       and
            I can't even say
                       mama,
                          and
the dogs run by and stop and ****
on my stone; I get it all
except the sun
and my suit is looking
                                   bad
and yesterday
                        the last of my left
                                              arm           gone
very little left, all harp-like
without music.

at least a drunk
in bed with a cigarette
might cause 5 fire
                             engines and
                             33 men.

I can't
           do
                any
                       thing.

but p.s. -- Hector Richmond in the next
tomb thinks only of Mozart and candy
caterpillars.
           he is
                 very bad
                            company.

My orange dress
I wore it last
That night
My soul you undressed

I was in love
With all of you
You stripped it down
Claiming we
Belonged to you.

I am reclaiming
What is mine,
What has always been
Mine

I take a vow
I wear it now
This dress I love
My color of love

Dedicate it to
Ours to adore

The one
Given from above.