06/27/2021-07/10/2021
At the ends of my heartstrings, a couple of stars hang in space.
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Getting ready for bed together—
A sacred thing.
In the night, two small chips of aquamarine,
Two soft and silver spoons.
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For a short second, you look back at me, and the sun haloes your hair.
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Your eyes, two blue dishes.
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You have crossed, with me, from one life into the next. My hand closes around yours, around me.
If I see you again, you will be my miracle person.
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Your eyes are two memories that demand to be recalled.
Next, I will start believing that they are stars.
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I have wanted you for longer than I remembered. You are why I have found myself back here.
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Alive in the corners of my mind.
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Love is, like all else,
A wound,
Sitting up, waiting,
A clear and starry night,
A bowl of bright red cherries.
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Stay here for an evening when it rains.
You can smell the mist through the window.
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The weather will be perfect.
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For the first time in over a week, the sun shines past 5:00pm. Somewhere, I can hear cars driving on a road I cannot see.
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In July of the second summer, we walk into the woods to talk about us,
To tell each other stories.
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Two hearts break and come back together.
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I convince myself that the woods at the turn of day to dusk is a dream, glittering in the back of my eyes.
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The thunderstorms of the second summer are incessant and persistent,
Coming down hard,
Dancing in the wide puddles in the parking lot,
Illuminated only by the streetlights.
What are you doing when it’s raining sideways?
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In the dying sun of an evening of the second summer, I watch the light alone through my window. For a moment, all I think I am good at is losing love. Then, I go outside and lay on my back in the grass. The sun is still bright. My legs and hands are covered in dirt, and I am laughing.