Nostalgia like your body remembering
the sensations of cherry blossoms in April,
of the summer sounds,
cicadas and heavy breathing
on humid nights.
Even my sweat will remember
what making True, Pure Love feels like.

After all the anger and sorrow melt away
like sullied snow,
the crocus poke through like laughter
floating on the wind.
You were the pollen coating everything.
I was all four seasons all at once.
You were the second rain that settled
into my cracked skin
and reminded me how to drink.

What is it that I miss most about the South?
Going down on each other in the woods.
Sitting in silence on fallen logs
in a knowing sort of way.
My first sunburn in the Outer Banks
and making love in the sand,
dancing and leaping naked under the full moon.
The River as heaven, wading in
to the frigid and sparkling source
of the water we were both made of.

You taught me I needed to grow.
You taught me I could leave.
Love never, ever dies
but on these cold, California nights,
I miss bathing in your Light.