Volume 1:
If I start to write about love-
About the scent you wrap yourself in,
The arms I wrapped myself in;
About bleeding light
From the bathroom lamps
You left on because in the dark
The past caught up with me,
And crawled on my skin
And slept in my bed, so that
In the morning my eyes
Were swollen where it bit
And red where it scratched;
About that day I left, only to come back
Because honestly I couldn’t leave
When you hadn’t either
When the scent you wrap yourself in
Started to grow on me
When the arms
Of that stupid stuffed bear
Started to grow on me too,
Started to take place of the arms
I used to wrap myself in…
(Where was I? Oh yeah)
If I start to write about love-
After all those late-night distress calls
And stupid sleepovers-
Remind me why I stopped.
Volume 2:
Remind me to pick up
all the boxes full of
photo frames and clothes
and books
and memories
I left at your place,
thinking I’d never leave.
