duinostalgia

I wish I
could go back
to that forgotten

patch of forest
we remember so
well where we’d

sneak away at
night to spin
threads of naïve

lyrics over broken
guitar strings and
shit wine our

eyes
burning fireflies flittering
with the world

in them like
the cackling fire
made from stolen

grocery store cardboard
and still-wet twigs
small but so bright

 

just a memory of a very special place

it smells like its about to snow

its hard to write back

when it smells

like its about to snow

 

the scent of our could haves

and would haves heavy

like tea fumes in your room

 

masking post it notes

your memory mosaic

that we slept below

 

i’m afraid

to let the ink flow

beacuse tears would follow

 

i guess

 

i just want you to smell

the snow

beautiful and cold

 

The Blobbing Fish.