Collected Poems: Vol. I

Maryland

Smells like wood fire smoke. If I wasn't broke I would find the best French nez to bottle that shit up. I would spray it on your sweaters when you're sleeping. It adds ambiance to the feeling of holding your hand while laughing, talking, and making plans to walk through the cemetery down the street. It was set ablaze last week; you tell me Maryland always looks the prettiest in November. Autumn lasts three whole months here, and I'm shocked God has kept this from me for so long. I wear fingerless gloves holding tightly to a fresh brewed cup of coffee, which you have stirred in intentions of love. I see ghosts, but I don't say anything. We pull wool hats over our eyes; I want to disguise us as statues in the garden amongst the headstones so we never have to leave. We like this part of our routine: lacing up brown leather boots and packing scarves just in case. I've never not seen snow on my birthday. This year on Nov 27th I asked you to hold my coat. Was it warmth for real or warmth from feeling? You whisper "porque no los dos" so softly I could have sworn it was in my head or from the dead or from a breeze carrying words from lovers down the street. When we get home we smell like blissful afternoons and musk. I watch your hands work on pies and it makes me think maybe autumn smells like gourmand? I guess I will smell sweet like fresh baked homestead bread and you can smell like leather and flannels and smoke. When we lie down together for the night, and you have fallen asleep, I secretly make Pinterest boards and research places where we could live like it's fall in Maryland forever.