(no subject)
who will listen
when all i want, is
to not be another
poet needing to talk
about this nostalgia.
blessed and broken a p a r t,
like dinner rolls
brought on by music
put down, and picked
up again too soon
you
will not,
darling, but
i
remember the cold weather
that made you want
to warm me up,
the way we touched
so carefully
in the first moments
we discovered we could
without breaking.
i kept saying your name.
to make it real
to make you mine
to see if you wanted this
as much and as long
as i had,
you.
you.
you...
the rasberry coffees
with cream and sugar
storming dark liquid
into something
soft, sweet, and beautiful.
something the world could taste.
something we could share.
or at least, something
that we could almost make
smell like home.
if it had just been ok
to try a little harder.
if there wasn't reason
to sit down to last suppers,
and stop listening to lyrics.
spring is coming soon.