May 19

Peter

Peter,

I shall never forgive you for breaking my heart,

Yet I can’t deny how perfect you were when you left me.

Lying on your side against the grass,

Your brown eyes gently shut.

Your smell has become my hay fever.

I shower the ground from bloodshot clouds,

Looking down at your hidden grave.

I itch to see you again. To kiss you.

I often see your freckled chest, flying across the sky above me.

Evaporating the love I have left you.

And sometimes your spots begin to cry,

Which is why

I never use an umbrella.