it is 3 p.m. when hope visits me.
his t-shirt is light, jeans ripped
and frayed at the cuffs,
feet bare against the scattered leaves
on the ground.
the sun hangs halfway in the sky,
the breeze carrying the taste
of cooler air—
it is the kind of weather you fall in love in.
when he sits beside me,
it’s been a while, i say,
slipping off my shoes,
toes digging into the dirt.
thought you’d forgotten about me.
his smile is beautiful in its sincerity,
eyes blue in their wistfulness.
he tells me he’s sorry he’s been gone
so long, tells me
how much he missed me, tells me—
i didn’t realize how much
you needed me
i trace the veins along his hand,
absurdly envious of the blood
that flows inside of him,
of the fact that we will never
be that close.
he cups my chin, tilts his head
as he reads my face—
smirks when he understands
if i could dream, he says,
every dream would be about you.
when he kisses me, his tongue
tastes like summer.
he is cotton-candy stained