Pretty in Pine Green

It’s the way your lips linger
on the glass you used
long after you’ve left,
the deep pink imprint
partially cracked
teasing the freshest parts of my memory.

It’s the way one of the shirts you wear
every night we spend together
immediately catches my eye
as it lies across the rest
of my wrinkled wardrobe—
the slightest smile
spreading across my face.
It’s funny how I now want to wait
weeks to wash my things
I didn’t know I had it in me.
Side note:
only you can make a dirty hamper look good.

It’s the way you spray that scent of yours
every morning
before kissing me goodbye,
leaving a sweet treat on my tongue
until the next time
(which never seems to come fast enough).
Your mist slowly settles
as I stumble through—
still so sleep deprived yet satisfied—
to quickly use the bathroom.
Already, I miss you
which speaks volumes
and suddenly, I love the sound of silence.

It’s the way strands of your long blonde hair
can fill me with immediate relief
upon realizing
my hand didn’t just brush against
what I was convinced was
a single string of a spider’s web
resting on the top shelf of my shoe cubby

It’s the way I catch the slightest smell
of burnt popcorn
as I step out of the shower
a “short-forty” later.
You just can’t resist.

It’s the way those very same kernels
somehow only fall on your side
of my oh-so-tiny couch
and how I seriously don’t mind
because now
it no longer looks like
a staged piece for an upcoming
open house.

It’s the way you breathe life
into a life I thought
I was already living.

And, it’s the way
you make me want to
keep chasing this feeling.

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