my poem

[QDeathstar]

his was face grim and his H
eyes hidden by the dark shadows of a
beloved baseball cap, worn thin with frayed
and tattered edges and it had the quirk run on with awkward phrasing
of a vintage bookshop and it held
more memories that you couldn’t
ever fathom from it’s stitching to to the to the; basic editing
the to the sun bleached coloring
at the top.

he was smiling with
his eyes as bright as a thousand
suns and his lips
turned up in a grin making
me proud because
i had done that i had this doesn't make sense, done that what?
made him happy.

sometimes he smoked and
when he did he had
bags under his eyes like
the weight he carried in his
chest and he reeked this is rambling, what does desperation smell like?
of cigars and
desperation.

we would kill time in the kitchen with why kill time
flour fights and cookie
tastings and he would lick
the spoon even though there
was raw egg and we would be
gentle and caring and loving
in a way that can only
be experienced and not
taught. what?

sometimes i would make
a pot of coffee and he wouldn’t
have any and so i and so i is wordy
would put on the kettle and
make a him a cup a tea
but he would say he wasn’t
thirsty and i would dump
them both with my
throat aching
and eyes
filling.

we went to the park in
the essence of spring
and had a picnic with grass-
stains and baseball
and hugs and fun
and we stayed till it
was dark
to see the stars
but the lights of the
city blocked them out i like this, but it still sounds robotic and harsh, it needs smoothing
so we made promises of
forever on passing
planes.

there were days where we wouldn’t
talk stuck in a moment of silence
grieving over something forgotten
but not lost that neither
one of us bothered
to look for it.it what?

there were days with color and
talks of future and children
and color samples
that all turned
out to be
shades
of grey.

the stars were never aligned for us
no matter how much we
tilted the world on not bad
it’s axis.