I promise to remember you real.

I won’t turn you into poetry

Or talk about your smile as if you swallowed the night sky

And gave the stars a new home in the spaces between your teeth.

I’ll remember it as it was:

Crooked, with that endearing gap your mom never paid to get fixed.

I won’t fill notebook pages with our memories,

Like the sundrenched days at the beach that bled into firework filled nights

With fingers that were always intertwined

And heart lines that never stopped touching,

Or dedicate open mic nights to the many lessons you taught me,

Like how dangerous it is to make a home

Out of someone with great big wings.

I promise to forget how you made a habit of trailing calloused fingers along my spine

As if you were tracing constellations atop its ridges

The way an explorer traces them atop mountain peaks.

I won’t make metaphors out of our conversations

Or think about your warning signal eyes.

I should have known better than to fall for a boy always in search of a new adventure.


Edited by: Zach Iezzi


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