honestly?
my love, you had a simple heart
I stole parts from, to build my own
you taught me how to feel at home
with love, with one another,
laid out in the open,
growing sunburns,
in the fading indian summer
nothing calls me back to now;
but all your shapes imprinted deep
upon the furrows of my mind
like wrinkles in my trousers as I sleep,
cradled in the old limbs
of the hammock and the spring,
like wrinkles on my forehead as I walk,
arms clutched tight around my trunk,
crotchety and slightly drunk,
like moles that sniff the air and run away,
that hide their heads and scream,
surprise me when I reach inside
to tweak the knobs that make me dream
