Pristine

This week was heavy

It sat on my chest like an iceberg

Slowly melting into hot, sticky grief

I think loving me must be messy

Because as much as I try to

Pull it together

Wipe my face

Wash my hair

Put pants on

It always comes seeping out

It oozes from my pores

And I can’t help but think

Of your pristine white shirt

Warmth

You are warm drapery

Across my back

I am melting into your

Methodic rumbles

Warding off this viscous sleep

For the thought of watching

Yours

Missed Call

I missed your call earlier
But I wrote a poem about you
And in the grand scheme of things isn’t that just as good?
You sway me towards almost believing that its not
And my writings are no substitute for our sun drenched memories