Tag: nostalgia

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 can feel
the drums in my pulse. 
i miss the warmth
of the sun while it rains,
and the smell of
Armani cologne and sweat.
the way we’d all slide in
the back of the car with
no seat belts,
the leather sticking
to the backs of my thighs. the heat.
pulling mulberries off of
the trees in the yard and making
tracks on the tile
when we’d come in for dinner.
our four beds pushed together.
whispering in darkness.
throwing cheese
to the street dogs and cats.
being free to be 
a child. getting lost. wandering
too far.

հայաստան: Armenia // 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