a love lost in letters i never got to write, spelled out in fours:

one syllable rolls off
my tongue, and i
swear it’s ‘love’. but
it’s only your name
in my doorway, shaking
my mom’s hand confidently.
in the frangipane of
almond lattes, astrology, and
the custard shop i
almost stopped the car
for. in firewood at
the thrift store, or
whatever your dad lore
was supposed to be.
in the pouring rain
you walked me through,
like the movies we’ll
never watch. the last
letter leaves my lips
like a highlight reel
in midair; i see
your thumb stroke my
cheek, turning red as
an old lady glares
at my blue eyes,
tinted green with envy
because of a moment
she stole. i see
my license, the smile
i flashed. i see
the way that yours
dropped when i thought
i had something in
my teeth. i scatter
the strings of denim
i ripped off my
jeans; i shuffle your
playlist, carefully, to replay
the chords you struck
so that when you
see me right back,
staring daggers, it bleeds.