another nostalgia poem

I wake where empty lost an imprint,
a prince of my pride and all its
benign royalty.

I wake with
a foil, arch-nemesis of blank space.

Think about cliches
like how she smiled at me upon disrupted

emotional rupture
of recalling
the olfactory too great
to grimace through.

I wake to me,
but never you.

I wake not to your touch,
but sleepless bruises, as though night’s not
proven itself a worthy foe.

Rose-tinted glasses down
to digital clocks
that didn’t fit in our pockets,
just played the radio while we
laid in bed
and talked.

I wake to summer but
its spirit’s been rocked,
heavy socks of winter donned
with sweats.

I wake to
perfection I didn’t want,
perfunctory jests.

And yet,
I still don’t wish you here.


4 thoughts on “another nostalgia poem

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