i know now intentions don’t mean much.

If I were to lose you, on the road to your mind,

this is what I'd remember best:

for one, your painstakingly hand-painted skeleton vest;

the deer skull antlers you wove out of thin metal rods, all set to rest

on the blue-tipped top of your hair and your head;

the way our kitchen smelled of rosemary and iced tea,

something always just about to burn, something concocted out of flour and butter,

sugar, spice, and everything quite-so-nice,

or the dried chives you'd sprinkle

on top of our meals before we climbed on the rooftop

at the start of the night

as you sang along to your favorite album, you know,

the one you'd play on repeat

non-stop,

caressing each song until it became part

of your teeth

and your throat.

I would remember the furrows between your eyebrows,

the constant warmth as you shifted in your sleep,

and the way you would always, somehow,

through shivering night terrors

or sweetest of dreams,

always, unknowingly, find your way

back to

me.