I Remember

with you, i remember the moments. i remember what you were wearing?the first time i saw your underwear?inching up your back as you bent over?your passenger seat. i remember your bed,?comforter bunched up like bath cloths?lathering the only body you knew how to feed. i remember climbing out your bedroom window?and rolling joints on your rooftop,?pretending we were on the planes?flashing seamlessly through the night sky?like a rescue mission. i remember air?heavy with summer, smoking weed in?my underwear between breaths. i told you?it felt like i was dreaming and you laughed. we got lost in a state park once and?we had to jump a fence in the darkness.?you tried to kiss me in front of the flowerbeds?because i didn’t take your hand coming down.?the sky swallowed the stars whole?that night, but i was too busy staring?at your eyelashes to realize that we kind of?like it when our dark smothers our light. i remember the first hickey you sucked out?of my heart, imprinting the bruises?on my body, vodka harsh on your lungs?like thunderstorms. i remember you?held my hand, cheeks roaring like forest fires.?my hands started shaking, fists like newborns. with you, i remember the moments–?and with him it was all him him him.?god, i loved him so much i couldn’t sleep.?i remember waking up missing him?like his lungs were attached to my breath?and smelling his scent on my skin?for three days after we met. i remember feeling hallow. empty.?climbing through dark tunnels with?nothing to grasp onto except?for old feelings. i remember feeling?like a character in his novel that everyone?knew the title of but me, where the first?kiss goodbye felt like crumpled leaves. but you turned my story into potpourri.?and with you, i remember the moments