Your shadow is still so somber, hung in the depths of each hall I mindlessly meander.
But swarthy be the two of us when we stand swallowed in our hoods,
Though in the light our skin is churned to a dusted cream
And if the skeletons in the closet tumble off the shelves and sparkle in acquiesce,
what a bad omen we'd surely be.
See, You wanted to bequeath to me all that I have hungered:
the black and white photographs,
highlighted newspaper clippings
the ghosts of my childhood
the sardonic escape in the palms
of punch-drunk connotations of the heart.
(I remember my teeth tasted like the melted tar of hard candy,
while calloused heels nestled on the dashboard with the windows down in an outdated Subaru.)
The glucose tears were slow to fall, and thick and vague and through it all – held back by just a levee built of pride.
See, I wanted to bestow to you, all that I have thirsted:
the dingy mornings that smell like earth
the very ancestry that pumps through my veins,
the saccharine sunsets beneath my lids,
and the effervescent bubbling of my heart.
(The simple things
that have always made me the happiest.)

Together such perilous fallacies lie: in carbon veils and tear stained tombs
in hummingbirds and ocean ripples
the simple things that have always made you the happiest.
And no longer can I count on my imaginary friends to be there
the day it all falls apart.