The echo from a touch,

The rippling of your godly frame against mine,

That stirs even the the mountains awake,

And being only twenty-one, we think this is love.

I still feel you in the air conditioned room of that summer house,

And I still feel you in that dark booth with the lights against us,

And I still feel you with the awkward prayers for the departure,

To the changing roads we both went on.

I still feel you even when you don’t want to feel me.

I think, this feeling, being twenty-one is only temporary,

But goddamn,  goddamn does it feel like yesterday,

And today, has crept up and forced me down,

Pinned me to you as my only lover, my only friend,

That caused me to give up the romantics of telling someone,

How badly you needed them.

I needed your pale frame,

Here, with my sleepy eyes and drowsy excuses,

To tame this ravaged soul,

I am the poor lover in your rich world,

And I want none of it,

Just you,

Here, these thoughts subdue me,

My sleepy eyes wanting your static frame,

And brown eyes and brown hair.

To smother me again.