we remain.
all this sunshine couldn't reassemble light
to be the way things were,
and the way the bricks are
laid out in the street breaks your heart
because you can't help but trip over the cracks
of nostalgia spinning you up in webs of
your latter existance.
im sorry that i dressed you aching,
but i had to;
it was time to cover that unclothed moonlight
where you heard my autobiography
harmonizing softly
melodic, in tune with the streamlight of the evening.
i confess to the fervor with which i paced in
(pace out)
and back,
tried to rip the threads gently,
but now i just need to go, and i still want you there
only for a piece of what you used to be.
i sometimes now wish i could take back the single piece
that you will always now have,
but relief is too necessary to die of regret for what i can't take back.
though, i'm content that it's you.

i return.
a former sunlight refracts and scatters in the
raindrop tears that soaked the threads of my sweater
flooding a confessional i never thought i'd find
in the birth of morning
or ever. that electric longing strikes deep
in all the places where i also have a weakness
(especially for the moonset shining softly
through a red iris brown, and the youthful glow that dances
between summer skin).
it was sweet; the undeniable magnetism
that directed sleepsoft breath to the back of my neck
to the swell of my cheek.
it pulls me back in, dieing to sink back in
over my head
under the former desire that never left me,
and i do now.
its everything i wanted for so long
that was obvious on my sleeve
where my gaze was cast downward for fear of losing
my heart through my eyes
even after it was too late the third time.
and its filling now,
no more holes where the emptiness forgot to reside,
but warmth where everything
enthralling and honest about those tears
manifested something real, sustaining
in all the slipping time that remains between.