highway flowers and cigarettes filled with moonshine.

staring at your back. constantly. on the highways where the flowers have been trampled by cars. where walking has left residual sweat marks in our hair. i have wondered what your face looks like. if you still have eyes as burnt as i remember. if the sun has kissed you enough to show its lipstick stains on your porcelain silk skin. i wonder if you have seen me and my freckles. and my moon kisses. my moon kisses don't show. but she's left stars in my eyes. 

do you remember me and my cello hands. my stringed up and finger-sore cello hands. they still can't play the songs you love but they try their best to bleed with effort for you. my cello strings are stained with effort.

do you remember me. do you remember me at all.

do you remember the taste of the starlight in my mouth when those dreams i told you about vanished as quickly as they came. how bright they seemed at first. how dim they are now.

you were like a cigarette to me; something i could get drunk on when loneliness slept in the same bed as me. how dark it was alone. how otherworldly you spat that darkness away. a twilight, a waking dawn, a shooting star, a drowsy yawn.

do you remember me. when i would crush my head between the floorboards of my bedroom and the moon flooded my eyes because you took a towel and cleaned off the blood. do you remember me.

do you remember me at all.