dust constantly collected
on the windowsills
and in the corners
of the room, but
i liked that because
i always knew where to find it.

a firm
mattress was my muse,
pulling words like taffy

pulling poetry that left
a sweetness on my tongue

and a purpose almost as
defined,
as solid, as sturdy
as the walls.

this was home home until

i grew too big and my limbs
tore down the frame.

all that remains:
my body, full of splinters
and a yearning

for the way
the sleepy sun shone
through the windows.

Coventry // a.s.m

you moved out of here long ago.
the autumn leaves scrape
the sidewalk and i
remember the first time
you said my name,
the way it rode the October winds.

the windows are open
in your old bedroom.
air in one, out the other,
and I wonder if
any of the molecules
sitting on the
empty dresser have been in
your lungs. my heart
seems heavier than these drawers,
hands searching for
something, anything. your scent
in any form
and suddenly
i am standing
in the cul de sac outside
your driveway, watching you write
to me with the flowers
in your garden; breathy lullabies
of roses,
sweet and rotting.

Autumn // a.s.m

i am never quite sure
if i’m actually seeing
you. can you see the
living if you don’t believe
in ghosts? and yet
i can see the phantoms
in one’s eyes. i take a step
away and realize
we’re all a little translucent
in the light.

seeing ghosts // a.s.m

The rain paints
the world into
watercolors on my windshield.
Four lights shine
on the horizon just above
the hill where I went on a date once.
I remember him and I
had brought a blanket
to look at the stars that night.
We wrapped ourselves in it
and he kissed me and I felt
so loved then.
So in love.
With him? With love?
I don’t know;

In love with something
In love with everything.

For the Love of Being Loved // a.s.m

Fenton

i walked to the river today–
 the one we hiked to  on
our first date.
 I sat in the flowers,
the same ones I sat in when 
you looked at me like
 I was something 
you’d never seen before
 and asked me what music I liked.

I walked to the river today–the one
you and I got lost
 trying to find.
 I hiked the trail to  the rock where
you told me I was beautiful 
for the first time.

Do you still hear my laugh 
in the ripples of the river?
Do you still listen for me
 when the trees sing like the rain?
 Because despite all the time that’s passed,
I still see your eyes in the summer grass 
between my fingers,  and these
waters will always  whisper your name.