Burnt Orange

Sometimes I drive a little too fast
Just to regain that moment
When you lay your head on my shoulder
And I held the steering wheel for you
Pitch dark:4am
rocky path
You smelled my skin
And I held on

Love no more
your face has become a blur
In fact you seem to be
Everyone
I ever lost
Hazy
You still tangle me up

It is the season again
For watermelons
And ice on skin
And words slipped out
Under sheets of
Moonlight
Hands swimming carelessly towards me
Till they find their home
I'm waiting

Reading Leonard Cohen
At my open window
twist my hair into the nape of my neck
She hands him a burnt orange
all the way from India
I miss
The terrified scribbles
On napkins that get lost
In his pockets
The does-he-doesn't-he-He-does-doesn't-he?
The late night showers
And the early morning breath
Tired after too much fever
Of hands and skin and words in hair
Lily tucked behind my ear
And smiles with eyes I can't recall
Although I'm sure
I would remember if I could find
The photographs buried
Somewhere
I forgot

The glare of your sun
The salt on my tongue
As we pulled away
Strangers before skin grew cold
The It's Okay, You're Still my Friend
The curling up into a ball
under covers
Desperate
Not answering your calls

And now here
With no mark to take pride in
No head up high
Yes I have
When they ask me
If I have ever lived and loved
And I wish
For it all over again
Hurt together is better
Than fine alone