On the nights you have to leave ill feel the ghost of your breath on my skin in my dreams
Carefully i play the memories of your lips on my lips, my neck, and my chest
The memories of your hands on my hips, my hair, and my wrists
I can hear you say "i love you" and i can feel the "please dont leave me"
I can barely keep my eyes open and when i do all i see is you
Toes curling into the sheets and my fingers curl into your hair and under your chin
I can feel your heart beat against mine and it feels like we are one being
Fit together perfectly

There is a sweet
scented place
where all the Earth
melts into air
and I float,
weightless, in bliss,
liassez-faire.

If I could lay my head
on this spot
for all my life,
I'd ****** that deal
and swap for nothing
the peace I feel
as I sense your breath's
rise and fall,
and hear your heart's call.

That is the place
I value most.
and no one knows
the secret of  
this priceless plot
upon your chest.

Her dreams are packed suitcases,
sitting on the driveway,
a piece of cloth sticking out,
ready to be unfolded and opened,
and then carried around.
I miss her
like how Americans
will miss the Obama family.
Touching her lips with my fingertips
is like rubbing healing ointment
onto an open scab.
Mom says, “You will always regret it,
if you don’t send her a text back.”
I dump my phone into the fire,
watch the plastic and metal burn,
the embers and ash piling up.
A black hand reaches for my shoulder,
before I wake up in a cold sweat.
I open up her suitcases:
a blue Grand Canyon blanket,
a laminated receipt
from a Sushi Restaurant,
a deflated basketball,
her knockoff Gucci glasses,
a worn piece of my heart.
I touch my chest.
and I feel nothing there.

Her peace lies locked in the cage of his chest
Soft murmurs of life in motion state of his rest