Tonight, the moon is so shy
Concealing you from the light.
But I don’t need my sight
To see you
Your portrait crystalline on my mind.
Your teeth are little white squares
Dainty, dewdrops laughing like bells
Hmm…and I will never forget
The way your fingers touch mine
(Like the bounces of guitar strings!)
You always wear those
Oxfords with white bows, complaining to me that
They’re one size too small
Strands of brown hair fell out of your braid
Remember the squeaky sound
the swing set on the playground used to make?
I miss your white legs
Dangling from that bright yellow
And your teeth. They were little white squares, I swear.
Hide and seek,
But never found…
Lacey, I think the typewriter is making too much noise.
It’s the most beautiful
Birthday present I have ever gotten
But I’m afraid it’ll wake my parents.
Lacey, life sucks right now,
And I miss you.
If I knew that was the last time you climbed the lighthouse
To watch stars with me
I would have never shifted my eyes
They would’ve stayed
On you, my eyes
When the streetlight finally went out
My room is
hazy, my fingers are made of fog
For a second I thought I heard
Your footsteps, your too-small oxford shoes
Your white knuckles knocking on the door.
Ghost of my head.
I’m losing sleep
The way you lose hair―by the fistfuls!
So I trace the orbit of the moon,
And catch your eyelashes on my skin.
Hey Lacey, what happened?
Did you cry before you did it?
Did it hurt?
Did you think about me, for a wisp of a
Is it nice up there?
And Lacey, will you come visit me some day?
I can’t take this anymore, it’s all bullshit.
Please come back.
Lacey, do you believe we will meet again?
Because I do.
So this is a poem I wrote.