did you measure the width of my eyes

way back then?

when the leaves were still falling

not quite nestled

within the dirt

i haven’t seen you since then

i haven’t seen much

my eyelids feel like the shutters of a bomb shelter

so why do i still feel the heat


can you remember?

can you take me back to that night i wasn’t quite a writer

and we weren’t quite strangers

and it wasn’t quite over?

you wrote about clouds bruising like oranges

ripe for only moments

i wonder if you saw how ripe my smile was

i wonder if you knew

that was the last moment

before the rot