the cloudy sensations of lips and fingertips
that i got on long midsummer nights with you,
reminded me why i woke up.
the vanilla softness of your bare skin on mine,
of vapor running along my veins,
of steam surrounding my bones,
made me grateful for my time here.
there are remnants of chipped white paint
where my soul used to be,
illusions of company
where you once laid beside me.
there’s a distant echo in the back of my mind
where your voice used to whisper sweet nothings
into my ears, gently, delicately,
like i was a library
and you were all my books.