yesterday is tomorrow & you're like
the study of decades, or lack thereof.
i'm trying to find you or myself,
which is either or the other or sometimes
both- i don't know who stopped
pretending first & when you became
such a memory. that summer

we were color
& then you faded into sepia tone,
burned sugar in july on the backs
of my teeth. bittersweet iced tea
on back porches, the sun bled gold
and i watched the world melt
on the tip of your tongue as it slid
between mine.

you recited
e.e. cummings in your sleep with your arm
wrapped around my waist because you knew
how much it meant to me & bought me
tickets to a concert we never went. then you
picked me some dandelions from the fields,
and i forgave you but the flowers died & then
you were away from me and i did not cry.