We laid together on a cold bench that only stayed half up, missing a leg. The difference has faded between the sunk boards and the loose nails.
A birch tree stooped over us, hanging the winter sky from its’ frozen branches. And the night, white with no lights floated gray, among the blind blue birds that couldn’t find the south.
I gripped your hand, colder than mine, harder, wishing the clouds to fall over the clocks of the station, to stop the train before the eye of the coming dawn found us, taking you away, making your place an empty space.
So I bit my chapped pink lips till I fell asleep in your army coat, knowing I will wake looking for you, and find only your letters that I kept in my girlish bootstrap.
The sky is heavy. It hangs low on the rooftops, and miles and miles of traffic places distance between you and home, and the memory of you being in love is stretched thin over days that become years, then haze grey in your mind’s eye…
Fall asleep, Summer. And open your eyes.
Watch the white snow fall outside your window. Turn the streets into your canvas that falls in love with the colors of rare, and your eyes that see life as moments within a memory, beautiful like the tiny grains of sand caught in your long brown hair —
Since the time I was in love with you, since the winter and the summer of the same skies that stretched white, I almost forgot that I remembered the sharp corners of your thin mouth curved downward when you smiled. And for a moment, I wonder if you thought of me at all—
or if the last thing you remembered was the sound of 9mm unloading into your sleep, the loudness