Deux

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you smell like my old neighbor's

lemon tree used to

in the latest part of spring

and it would linger throughout summer,

just as you did

just as the color of your

eyes

the ocean mixed with outer space and smoke

the smoke

it choked me

the smoke that choked me was made

of all the flowers

we exchanged

and the smoke made a noose

a noose of flowers

and that's what suffocated

any doubts i had about choosing to love you.

i love how your favourite flower

was but a weed

an infectious weed that would spread

and destroy the rest of the life

inside the garden

never feeling guilt about being so selfish.

inside the garden

that as long as i've known it

has never been well kept

but i like to think that maybe once

someone did keep roses

or lilac

or mint and lavander

or maybe sunflowers

inside, lined neatly into an aesthetic

or maybe she dreamt of you

just as i do now

and maybe she planted

Those infectious yarrow weeds

just for you

because her dream told her

you loved them

and it all seemed so real

staring into your lilac blue

and feeling your morning sun

or hearing your starlight late at night

from the window

or the balcony

or in the sunroom

or even in the bed she shared

with the only other man she loved

but though she never met you

it was,

and always has been

you that she wants

and i don't blame her

because you are a snowflake

you are like coffee

or the cigarettes he used to smoke

or the alcohol she used to drink

while listening to old records

in her grandfathers vintage record player

and wishing things would change

or that things had been different

because darling

you are an addiction

and maybe most people are blind

or are jealous

or admire you and are embarrassed

and maybe that's why you don't think you

are important

and wanted

and needed

and maybe that's why you've chosen me

out of every girl and guy you've ever met

i would swim in infinity

if it meant i could hold your hand again

if only i could meet the violent violet inside the green porcelain

of your yellow thoughts

you said you wrote your school essay about me

you said it was four hundred words,

the only words are I'm and sorry.

THE OCEAN MIXED WITH OUTER SPACE AND SMOKEWhere stories live. Discover now