In hindsight
I could have handled it better when
you threw yourself onto our bed
drowing in the sheets
with only marshmellow pillows
to keep you afloat.
You're most vivid when
we sat in hot tubs
hot boxed
in the hot summer breeze
holding out for some rainbow
that might come
after the rain
that never will
and I mused through tears
of sundays when
we'd ponder little things like
dainty fingers and
what flavor ice cream we would be
dreaming about parasols
and how the sun always managed to turn us red
without them.
The memories of traded glances
in the firelight of the lantern festival
where flames inside paper houses
were meant to banish bad things, but
you never seemed to mind it
no, not at all
even if you were the worst
thing that could have happened.
and
now I let myself drown
in the softness that is
the impression you made,
sampling the blankets but
nothing ever seems as warm,
as you.
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