SandScript 2021

It may be warmer here, but that means
no place for my sweaters, the scarf you bought
me in ’99, no excuse to slide my hand into your
coat pocket, your grumble about the chill even as
you’d kiss them warm when we got back.
Yes, alright, sue me, I’m nostalgic for our city,
where I ran as a young man and where we got all
tangled up together. Nostalgic for the cold and the cat
on the fire escape and the horrible coffee in the cafeteria
of that place you worked and still work at, but most of all-
I just miss you, plain and simple. Miss your cologne
on my jacket and dinner on your breaks, the taste of honey
custard on your mouth. I miss your shirts next to mine, and
the sound of your laugh underneath the yellowed lights.
Is our Greek place still open? I’ve been dreaming about it.
They haven’t extended my contract yet, no, but there’s been
murmurs. I think I’ll try to come back for the summer though,
work on my plans while draped over you. No, you won’t be a
distraction, well, not much, of one, but… It’s all about balance,
and I think we’re good at that by now, aren’t we?
If you want to visit instead, I found another Greek place. Their
custard doesn’t taste the same, too sweet, but maybe you’d
balance it out, my bitter darling. You could steal your mug back,
even, if you really wanted to, and give mine back. Oranges are
a dime-a-dozen here, so it wouldn’t be that out of place.
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