i.
To catch a boy in the wake of summer
Leave out a cup
Brimming with melon-colored milk tea and tapioca
Make sure to capture his smile
When he spills some on the counter

When it is still warm on the cheeks
And independence has yet to be fully realized
You catch a boy by offering him the futon
Night after night after night after night
You don’t think to ask your mom and
He doesn’t seem to mind the basement stench
But you overcompensate with your words anyway
You’re good at that

Kesha plays like a hymn in the cathedral
Of his boyfriend’s second car
But you catch a boy with the menthol sound
Of Cavetown at dusk in your hole of a bedroom
And he sits on the bed and watches you paint
As his notifications are piling up with passive-aggressive texts
Summer tastes like lemon and cough drops

Hark, while the wasteland breathes out silent whims,
And see, as night's aura cloaks distant trees;
A sinister echo of ancient hymns,
Floats up, in a creeping midsummer breeze.

As the miles sum up - an anxious bearing,
Rushes a vague fright up the fragile spine;
But with the city lights on watch, nearing,
This unsettling fear slides down the incline.

The unattended anxiety does go,
Which this travel in the dark did arise;
City lights torch a new fret although,
But far less weary, it, in question, lies.

Wearisome measures of the restless nights,
Merit resistance by the city lights.

She paused, an almost smile flitted across her sorrow sunken face.
Her blonde hair reminded me of someone I used to know
Her blue eyes, while clouded, reminiscent of warmth.

She returned to her hymn, the mourning pitch rung in my ears.
"Do you sing for Beauty?"
"Do you sing for Truth?"

She never answered.

She was a fantasy
I played over and over
in my head
like a hymn
recited on a Sunday morning
while waiting for forgiveness

It’s an ode to myself
the one enclosed in this ink
in the middle of the page
as a symbol of a heart
that got rhythm
after years of silence
thanks to my pen only.