Spark #2

NOTE: this one has been in my head for a while, I just never fathomed writing it down like this. there are moments when I can conjure sitting in the chartreuse of grandpa's old 'whoa-nelly' where the smell of leather and dust and roll-yer-owns lingers and tinny music rolls out of the glowing radio and i can recall the sound of your voice the tilt of your head the smell of your neck -of sweat and old spice and oustide and smoke - as you hug me tight there are moments when i can recall the way your face lights up when you smile, the way you slowly, precisely comb you hairs, the way you hunch over the furnace rad on cold, cold dark mornings, chores done before the sun and i think: these are all i have left of you and they will have to do i hold them tight locked away for safe keeping i bring them out sparingly hoping they won't wear out or fade with time and use