and he may never return
just like the utter directionlessness of this poem, I have no idea how to miss someone who doesn't exist anymore
in a room, of an apartment, one that no longer exists in the world, but will always in my mind.
I take a motor to my mouth, swirl it around, stare at myself, and your hand breathes warmth onto my shoulder from behind.
our eyes are sunken, but smiles wide, a day lost to sweet expedition, mystifying things I never believed I could find.
we are tired, but we are artists.
a tumbler of tequila sits on my counter, through the corner of my eye, we scrub the smell of peaches off our lips.
we laugh about the nonsense we were raised to find endearing, you tell me you wish to go to mars, I tell you I wish nothing at all.
alone, I am nothing, together we are something, I find adventure in your presence and you find something more calming in mine.
time follows us all around, in the mirror, between the sheets, and tales of life when I was in my prime.
your hand would grace me all around a city I drew maps of, making love under fluorescent lights, and drug-induced comas on superficial nights.
you still dream of mars but our days are less than married, you sit on the edge of the bathtub and I imagine myself alone upon being buried .
suddenly, my face has grown wider, I no longer sing the same old songs, life slows down, and I try to become someone without you around.
when I miss the spunk and the ruckus and the grime, I simply call back to someone, in a room, of a house that no longer exists anywhere but my mind.
a boy sits lowly beneath a raggedy, patched-up chair, willing to kiss a girl, hopeful to see the world, pining to be a promise someone made too long ago.
he’s kind and unaware, of the you he’s yet to make, he’s fine and takes up dares, but he may never return.
and I may never find peace of losing eras on eras, transforming and reforming, letting go and staying gone.
a motor dies in my mouth, and you’re not around to catch the fall of the foam from my mouth, so I swirl it around, spit it out, and watch someone I once knew, spiral all the way down.