I.

 My words dress up for you 

My heart wraps around yours

The rest, a mere quest through the trivial elements that make up our existence. 

The off chance of finding your smile in the crowd. 

Sharing laughs on your couch. 

Holding hands in the summer heat. 

Then refusing to let go. 

And while it seems hard to hold on. 

How could we let go? 

II. 

You joke. 

I laugh. 

And the laughs blend this day into the next. 

Where I joke.

You laugh. 

And we do not know for sure how many days have passed

But we have navigated through the stormy seas of all our lives.

Living on in your crooked bone.

In my patchwork scar.

And we have danced so hard,

That the nights are gone. 

A second time around. 

But you will joke. 

And I will laugh. 

Time is really nothing more.

III. 

I wrote about your smile 

You gave me plenty more

I wrote about our days

And they melted into memories, 

They melted into pasts.

I lavished in our summer

Dreamt of fall in your arms

But I have in these pasts

Only your endless summer

Only our countless jokes.

This remains.

If at least for today.

IV.

I became a lit candle

Ignited by the passion in your flame

I studied the lines along your eyes

The nights behind them

The stories they hold

What stories will they tell of me?

Will they quiver when they hear my name?

Will they remember my name?

V.

There was a tiny stream behind the library you took me to. 

This was the first memory in which I actively remember thinking of you

Your smile keeping my own on me

The excitement of knowing you were somewhere in this city

Thinking of me

Sitting in a tiny stream

With my tifanny blue fan

And a freshly read book in hand.

VI.

After thoughts do not often occur when you are sure

They appear as details you missed

As blurry elements that look yellow, not gold.

You were gone

Inevitably gone

I was alone in the backyard of a library

A beautiful library

In a beautiful neighborhood

But you were not there

And we never came back as I pictured we would

To poke our feet in that stream, together.

VII.

The first piece I wrote for you

Was the first time I wanted you to know I was thinking of you

That your inspiration was grand

That your voice was oh so strong

Touching me from afar

Touching me from wherever you go

While I sit and read about lovers who remind me of you

Without loosing sight of the lover in me.

VIII.

There may be elements I do not remember

Entire days that were erased 

There are others, that extend themselves over decades of your lips on my lips.

Your thighs beneath my thighs

And my feet hanging helplessly while we become a single, endless kiss

IX.

The more I think of our time, the easier it is to become enchanted all over.

As I feel my head in your neck, my arms on your chest.

I grow old in your bed

I become a version of the poets I have read

Eagerly fighting to become more than a women with her head in your neck

To become a poem

To turn your arms into words stronger than stone

Softer than the embrace in which we slumber

I think of our time as a page to discover 

In a book I have read over and over.

X.

When I think of a book I can smell it

I can fell its weight, acknowledge its age.

More than a story, I can place a bookmark in the time of my life when I touched its pages

When we became friends.

Looking back I know the moment in which you and I became friends.

When we became drunk on the stories we blurted back and forth

This was long after I cried in a BBQ joint

Long after I jumped on a flight back to you.

We became friends long after I blurted stupidly that I love you.

Then stupidly admited I loved the days with you

Not you.

I touched your pages and you touched mine.

A bookmark, the only bookmark worth the time.