In Memory Of

After handshakes and side hugs of all the places to lay your head, the bathtub was my home away from home. To harmonize these muscles is rotten work yet I listen to the sound of water. Inviting a cicada to a dinner party beyond the windowsill that gets about two weeks of life to fuck lay eggs and die. It just lives, and routine becomes a beautiful religion. Feet curled up in blisters like old promises, my stomach hides and traveling the notch between your shoulder and the run of the chin. 

To the bent syringe and pressed pants knotted in the sink, to the sound of lucky razors with every confidence and sweaty candles whittled down to a dull glow. Taking our turn at the giving of what grows green. How do you wish away burnt garlic and seduce the juice out of melon rinds. To the corner of broken mugs and sampled toothpicks found me lacking. To returning to slamming doors, dusting angels, and growing basil. To hair dye and popped collars and wadded up receipts and learning not to speak over your meal. To muzzled hounds and wound-up feathered pillows. To sharing toothpaste, menthols, bathrobes, and bleach and learning not to chew on memory in starvation because one day you're gonna need it. Of all these small miracles given time what rubs and leans into and wraps around to tear down a home. From a long line of impatience in memory of you teach me how to be satisfied.