Over my shoulder I see you there,

glasses & crooked teeth,

in P.E. you stood next to me.

We talked for hours on our land line phones

about classes & annoying people,

awkwardly fitting in,

boys n' shit.

I was one of the few people 

you let over to your mom's apartment.

You were embarrassed but I liked it.

Your mom dated a man I never saw smile 

so we always cut past them instinctively 

& went upstairs to your room.

We went on aol instant messenger

the high school of online.

We tested social waters together.

We shared growing up at this point in time.

I liked the carpet & your cramped computer desk.

I liked feeling an energy not found in the very tidy & pristine 

because my home felt like that too; 

comfortable, not immaculately clean

but genuine & sweet.

We went to different schools 

but you still hid a birthday gift in my locker.

You shared real moments with me 

that could only be a part of my experience.

You helped with the ache of responsibilities

& I thank you for your presence,

but when I turn away from my shoulder 

& this moment of recollection,

away from these memories,

& I look at your face now,

that is not what I see.

There is no apartment,

no energy like that.

I literally can't afford your time

no matter if he's loving or anything.

Your clothing & accessories have to have brands.

You have to have.

Love is money.

You are possessed by possessions,

your goals are no longer what I expected.

I imagine when dogs smell something

the scent tells a story;

in a matter of seconds 

my parents three dogs are introduced,

the children who hugged me at work,

the sauce slathered burrito I ate for lunch,

the inside of my car,

my spilled coffee & conversation spit,

the books I opened,

a flash of life inhaled & explained to a color blind perspective.

The more their nostrils read my presence, 

the more detailed my life becomes.

Even after a sticky adventure

swirling down the gutter where your mind just went,

or a tired afternoon I've carried with me all day,

the bones of my story remain 

to be mentally chewed on.

Humans do not smell as well 

but more selectively.

The deeper I breathe, the more I recall.

Something in the breeze melts a feeling over me.

A memory calls to me through

the laundry

the stove

the marina 

your skin 
& then suddenly 

a time in my mind is painted vividly by my heart. 

At a certain point I've overthought it;

I'll have to apologize,

I'll need to explain.

I've let something slip too long

& there it is, 

inflated with potential 

climbing away from me 

up & over clouds

as the string slides through my fingers,

nothing as my excuse,

just oops.

Fuck.

Oh well.

Sorry I did nothing about this! 

I took so long 

because it got increasingly awkward 

to think about how much time passed.

I'd rather forget I'm accountable

& watch wasted breaths 

float away.