Poems

Nostalgia

It tastes like honey,
And it feels like the daisies,
I'd use to turn into crowns,
And place atop your head.

It tastes like the ink,
That we use to write
All over our skin,
And feels like the pages,
Of our favorite book,
That took you the weekend,
To read twice.

It smells like cinnamon,
And your stupid old cologne,
That use to fill my lungs,
And send shivers through
My skin and bones.

It sounds like the laughter,
That would echo through the halls,
After I told you a joke,
Or when I would fall.

It looks like the stream,
Where we found that snake,
And the trees where you sang,
And the grass where we slept.

I can feel the nostalgia,
Creeping down my back,
Tingling my senses,
Wishing to go back -

Back to the way things were,
Where it was just you and me,
And no her.

Back to the way,
Your voice would whisper like the wind,
On a nice spring day.

Back to the way,
Your hair would tickle my cheek,
As you bent to kiss my paint covered hands.

Back to the way,
Your skin would grow warm,
And you'd let me place my cold hands,
In your very large ones.

Back to the way,
You'd tell me beautiful things,
And I'd remember them with care.

Back to the way,
Your heart skipped a beat,
When I entered the room.

Because these familiar tastes,
and sounds, and sights, and smells,
They make my heart ache,
From this sickening nostalgia.

And now all I can think about,
Dream about,
Talk about...

Is the cinnamon scented boy,
With the curly hair,
And the honey flavored lips.

But all you can think about,
Is the girl,
Who isn't me.