dead on arrival.
i know there’s not much to a box of used crayons
when labor day gives them away,
but do you remember the oiled pigment
staining your fingernails, staining your shoes
when they ground beneath the carpet and the soles?
do you remember your smile, your squint, your childish
determination and pride? you scribbled the world at
dusk and i asked why we still watch sunsets if
we know how they end.
and did you hear the music threading through
lawn mowers and storms last night, did you dance with me?
i should’ve guessed that the stars preferred
the sun to the moon (like calls to like), but maybe
they needed a silent love. still, your heart
beats like cicadas’ wings and i thought it would
keep me awake forever (and i thought for once
that would be alright).
and we never did get to play chess
but i’ve still got you in check;
it’s your move.