Blue curtains draping over high, tall windows
Gazing into the glorious night sky you should know
In the highest tower, lies the eagle above others
Certainly more victorious than another

This is the House of wit and learning
Where points will be given that will be earning
The confidence in ourselves we strive to seek
So don't be shy and not too meek

The House of Ravenclaw takes only the best
But do not forget to get along with the rest
We hold the colours of the cool blue and shiny bronze
Yet we are the most quirkiest against all odds

And most of all, we value our wit and wisdom
For it is like our soul and our kingdom

I thought going to his funeral
when we were 14
& he was 15
would always occupy
the darkest,
most excruciating
space in my soul

Until her funeral,
when we were
all 16

But I was wrong,
both times

It wasn't losing
our wisest friend
to raging hormones,
****** parents
& a rope
that left the
strangest,
most mutated
bruise

And
It wasn't losing
our quirkiest friend
to striking anger,
a rainy night on
a windy road
& a sports car
that left the
deepest,
most potent
cut

It was losing you

And having this crushing
knowledge that you still
live in the town
that we grew up in,

you still light fires
in the back yard
where we used to
drink your dad's beer
and play his guitar,

you still sleep on the mattress
we used to drag down two
narrow flights of stairs
into your living room
on Saturday nights
when the stars were clear
through your sky lights,

you still drive that
Subaru outback
that's decorated in
dents & scratches
from all the times
we needed to
feel brave,

you still get the mail
at the bottom of
that dirt driveway
we scraped our knees on
every summer from
the time we were
twelve til the time
we were eighteen

And knowing that none
of that matters

The most unique agony
that's ever turned
in my stomach
is having this crushing
knowledge that
if I stretch my
arms out far enough,
I can poke you in your
puffy hazel eyes
but fearing you have
grown so cold
that my fingers
might just freeze
on contact

It's missing you
when you are so close
that I can smell
your tires burning
on the gravel
up Stone Road
but not being able
to hear your voice
the way I remember it,
all laced in
purple warmth
& yellow light

The selfish truth is,
at least I know why
Kris & Sergei
aren't with me,

at least I can tell
myself that if they
still existed on the same
earth as me at all
they'd continue to
tell me stories
sitting Indian style
across from me on
my kitchen floor

You're a rawer,
more lethal
kind of aching,

a more honest,
more dangerous
kind of void,

cause you know that
I am still right here
but it's not enough

You lost those friends too

You know how it felt

And despite all the breaking
you did for them,
you chose to **** me off
like some rotting
parasite in your
passenger's seat

I filled myself with
you for eight years
And if I could
be open with you
one last time,
I'd tell you that
I'm scared shitless
to tip myself over
and let that all
pour out
cause I don't
want to find out
that without you,
murky water
and slush
is all that's left

But like you always said,
"Let's ******* do this thing
before it gets away"

Don't make love sound like wispy trees.
It's a bad commercial on a static age-old tv
on replay in the darkest corner of the apartment covered in cobwebs.
The stale air around it from keeping your windows shut
tight and the door locked with words stuffed in between its hinges.
Maybe love can warm ice cold hearts that have
frozen over from the heat of hypothermia.
Perhaps it has the ability to perpetuate that
painful kind of longing for a bed so small it doesn't
make you feel alone when you end your day staring blankly into the ceiling.
Many kinds of ghosts will haunt you in their wake
when you think that you could be safe.
But death and decay exist as ice cream flavours
in that abandoned parlor down on 79th street like
the broken frames you see in the alleyway still
holding flash-frozen memories of the distant past
and things that will never be again.
Walk down streets covered in dried leaves and
the stench of potpourri in the air reminding you
of a time with flare skirts and victorian columns.
You might feel the gazes on your neck in ounces
of gleeful displeasure and tantalizing advancements
but love is not always a lustful venture.
You've gotten used to the layer of dust enveloping your skin
and the celestial cocoon keeping you on the barren side
of the decaying hedge.
The whispers and groans from swings will tell you stories
of great loves and greater passions and you will quiver
underneath the weight of finding a love that fits you
the same way lakes drown in the midst of forests
Take a walk past the buildings erected from ideas of efficiency
and settle in a nest that breeds the quirkiest of all sounds
underneath a clear midnight sky
Let weeping willows hold you close and tangle your fingers
in languid bodies of water, unashamed and unafraid
Dust your bookcases and let the deep sighs of your floorboards speak.
Let the phone lines crackle and the panels heave.

(m.e.)