I spend a lot of time remembering you.Its a vanity I pleasure myself with.
Especially the monsoon nights that follow long evenings of staring at clouds pass by.As the sun sets into deep red and fades into darkness and light pollution.
The torrid rain reminds me of heartbeats and tin roofs and the creaky bed.Also I can't help wondering about that musky odor of toothpaste and cigarettes washed in the sweat of all the man that you are.Of red and sunsets and secret whistles.The way you scratched the ear of a dog.Your stubby fingers and the contours of my waist.The scents of your old shirts in my cupboard have faded.And I'm left with imagination and loss.
The twilight during which I'd shiver into your arms and warm myself on your hide.I remember now when I shudder with a numbing nothingness.
I'd like to punctuate efficiently but what is the use of grammar when my sentences fall apart before they can be constructed.I wrote poems to impress your childish inquisitiveness.But also to elevate myself to be worthy of the artist that I worshipped in you.
You taught and I now have learned.Then, I was fascinated.I was like a soldier in his first war.New to the battleground.
Now I'm weary and like a lost war hero trying to find his way home.
I would go on but that would make me feel pathetic and I'd have said it all.That isn't me is it?
I'd say I'm quite a sadist.I always want what I can't have.Or what will never exist.Now more than ever.
The stars and galaxies will multiply.Astronomers will be envied.The sun will fucking shine.
I must walk on.
I'm just really scared.
