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