keepsake

i only write when something has to get out—
i don't even think about it anymore.

except for
that one playlist.

shadow bodies slick with sweat,
steamy red rooms and
numb-gummed lips.
dreams? or was it,
you still awake
on the checkered kitchen floor.
cool as the day i met you.
silent as the day i left.

i don't even think about it anymore.
except for

neon staircases and
Tecate tall cans.
side-mouthed cigarettes
stained Cute As A Button.
street lamps? or was it,
the dawning light
as we drifted off to sleep.
beaming, like your belly laugh.
sharp, like its echo
in my peripheral.

i don't even think about it anymore.
except for when i do,
and then it's all i think about.