I walk by your house (the place we left you),
filled with heavy silence as rooms wait for beds to grow cold.

Mostly now I remember your voice moving over the pages of books,
how your thoughts formed about you like snowflakes and left the streets sparkling tunnels of night sky.

It is for you that my hands still move, with your last spark I was consumed

I am overriped with youth and my eyes are crusted over with unknowns.
I fall drunk into bed and forget the daylight,
choosing yet again to chase your footprints in the sand,
leading to nowhere,
roads washed to sea.

I am dull of summer air, and fireflies,
and water choked lungs.

I live in a world that's heavy with music, settled over us like a blanket.
There is life wrapped around my fingertips.