In Words

I remember the world as poetry.
it doesn't happen that way.

It's not until I sit down,
and scrape my pen against the page,
that I think of the way you smiled
the night I first met you, or

The way your lip gloss would
shimmer and shine,
the light reflecting
off my kitchen chandelier

or the feeling I get, looking back
at all the rainy nights spent together,
all the mattresses on the dining room floor,
all the curses that we screamed at each other
and the darkness of your cellar door.

You were always sweeter in words,
You were prettier in words, and
I loved you more in words
then I ever did in real life.