I do not know what you are now,
Fresh grass has grown over the trails we used to walk down,
Your feet smell of new conversations.
You wear clothes my photographs do not recognize
And use words I did not teach you.
Why do you speak in tongues now?
Why are you fires I did not light?
I remember chewing your skin and spitting it out the color of my blood.
Your body is blank paper now,
I expected you to be papier-mâché.
Trickle down my veins a little slower then,
My body doesn't know the shape of your smiles now,
And might send antibodies to evacuate the strangers,
I am all sneezes and tears.