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Description
Did you write in pencil because you knew
we would fade? Erase all stars from their sky
to black any light that may ever shine
on who we were for that strange year of sun.
My memory is not as frail nor as faint,
not nearly as vulnerable as graphite
yet I will not use these vivid stills to
bring up first kisses and gentle strokes
of brilliance and fingertips so much as
they will help me to make sure you always
have love, have someone somewhere who will keep
a light on your schema and drink to your
good health.

For now my words evoke a crooked smile,
a shake of the head, most often a laugh
but you understand me at two a.m.
when the pill bottles blur and all voices
have tears and you need me to accept all
your fears, but I’m underwater and can
barely hear. I am watching your every
sound for signs of old life stirring in this
mess of new, of advantageous life known
only from its past and never by its future.

My love will stand as a map back to when
you thought you knew what life in all its terror
entailed, when you thought that I had promise.
My love is like a silent road back to
your return to real, to sunshine and highs
with no influence other than the simple
pleasures of being alive, of once being
mine all mine.

Description
Did you write in pencil because you knew
we would fade? Erase all stars from their sky
to black any light that may ever shine
on who we were for that strange year of sun.
My memory is not as frail nor as faint,
not nearly as vulnerable as graphite
yet I will not use these vivid stills to
bring up first kisses and gentle strokes
of brilliance and fingertips so much as
they will help me to make sure you always
have love, have someone somewhere who will keep
a light on your schema and drink to your
good health.

For now my words evoke a crooked smile,
a shake of the head, most often a laugh
but you understand me at two a.m.
when the pill bottles blur and all voices
have tears and you need me to accept all
your fears, but I’m underwater and can
barely hear. I am watching your every
sound for signs of old life stirring in this
mess of new, of advantageous life known
only from its past and never by its future.

My love will stand as a map back to when
you thought you knew what life in all its terror
entailed, when you thought that I had promise.
My love is like a silent road back to
your return to real, to sunshine and highs
with no influence other than the simple
pleasures of being alive, of once being
mine all mine.