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you are going to miss it all

on summers spent in blanket forts.

By El TavernaPublished 5 years ago • 1 min read

Bennie pulls this from within me

as I'm aching for those halls.

These memories still linger,

and once again, I miss it all.

The blanket fort in the living room,

the brick and mortar walls,

the room I wept in quietly

while I waited for her to call.

The bassist slick,

the temple mist--

so brilliant!

so rare!

Washed in waves of coconut

and salted ginger hair.

I've never felt a deeper pull

of yellow in my gut.

Blocked from highways I don't miss,

but still caught in a rut.

322 will look to you

to push you farther,

further through.

The door frame,

blood names,

feels the same

as video games.

Higher rise

and steely eyes--

so meant for me;

it was no surprise

when ceiling umbrellas

and fake forevers

tucked themselves in moving boxes

once again.

I come up empty when my suitcase is full.

When the car was packed your skin was dull.

The moonlight usually makes you whole.

But our moons collided--ram and bull.

So I will come back sprinting

to our door straight down the hall.

Someday I won't miss you.

Someday I'll come home to it all.

surreal poetry

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    Written by El Taverna