i used to lay on the snowed-in flowerbeds
of nan's backyard. once it snowed enough,
you couldn't tell that a ****** of perrenials
slept peacefully there: all crushed
and crooked beneath
dirt and ice.

some days she'd come and join me
if the ground was soft enough:
we'd stargaze up into the cosmos
of pine trees overhead and listen
for the stillness of winter - the hush
of silence that lingered in the air.

ivy and henbit writhed
gingerly underfoot:
a quiet dogfight
of frozen earth
that begged a
sluggish spring
to come out of
hiding.

my bedsheets won't stop
strangling me
each night,
twisting around my
legs and arms and neck
until i cough myself
awake.

i'm breathing blood
once i'm finally up.
it's 5am and i think
i've been dying in my
sleep.

i turn the fan on
and the heat up
praying i can
fling my sheets
to the floor while
i fight with slumber,
waving it like a white
flag in the
dark.

when i asked
if this was the end
you said
"i don't know"
and i heard "yes"

if you
had stopped talking
for long enough
i think you would have
heard me breaking
but instead
you went on
with your conversation
as if i wasn't crumbling
to pieces in front of you
my nectarine soft heart spoiled,
the juices running
onto the floor,
hands messy
from trying
to hold us together.

laying your head in my lap
the way you always wanted to
looking up at me

as our eyes meet
for a few moments
dark oak swirling
with words we're
too nervous to
say out loud

seconds pass and
we can't take it
anymore

you roll-over
onto the bed
and i hunch
into myself

we can't stop laughing
making spiderman jokes
sneaking glances through
the night til our hands
intertwine without
meaning to
both wishing
we would
have kissed

i'm living all the way up here now
the mountains trail down to your
old suburban home

you're not here
not in my lap
staring up at me

brown
and blue
against one
another

her eyes
laughing
and twisting
until they've
faded away

i miss you
but the phone
won't even
ring