the last poem im ever writing about you

every smooth guitar pick,
Every balcony,
Every splintered bench,
Every hum of a colliding wave,
is you.

I feel that night with my fingertips.
You,
the soothing sense that made me believe.
The boy with the hummingbird voice and the gentle hands means,
Truth.

And I keep your love in the back pocket of my
Favorite
Blue
Jeans.
Someone, love,
Is there.

The girl back home will never understand,
you said. And this
is goodbye.
how
was the repetition in my fractured voice.

My tounge,
My teeth,
My lips:
Intertwined and said goodbye.
That sweet, sweet
whisper of
I LOVE YOU,
Will never be enough.

I reach into the back pocket of my
favorite
blue
jeans. And so,
I remember you.
For me.
For a reflection in a love.