Last 3 letters of the spring

the strokes; the Wednesdays; the stockings; the warm water; the sign of my teeth on your skin; the red is dry; the playlist 15; the date 15; the seven…all of the men you don’t mind touching me; the witch: the floral dresses; the long hair; the vanilla body milk; the nudes; the lace underwear; the weekly reviews; the slow eating; that apartment; that bed; the serenity; the Sunday mornings: the yoga studio across the street; the creepy dolls are seen from your window; the yellow flowers; the home-made dinners; my mispronounced words and your perfect English; the burned pancakes; your plants it’s a jungle now; my never-ending movie list; the 2am drunk kiss on the Charles bridge; the something sweet; the habits: the good, the bad, the boring, the weird; the closed blinds; the nightmares; the I need to see your face; the delayed flights; the bro and all of the unfinished; I locked myself out again; the don’t forget the keys; the parsley in your fridge; the head: the intimacy, the ownership, the lust, the greed, the rawness, the open windows, my loud noises; your hangovers; my late, slow mornings; all of the things you said you need to do with your life: my poems, your hoodies, my pillows, the little kiss of my shins; my hide your bitches, your she’s on her way to me; your I am still here; your we’ll figure it out; your you have me; the june: the black, the white, the blue, the boring, the weird…a scrunchie.