never forget

you're not far from my mind these days
and I find the things I (used to) love are taking a backseat.
the knuckles on your hands remind me of a time when work was honest
and fingers were used for something other than striking keys on a keyboard.

you open doors to find leaves blowing
and old lovers tangled with each other
lying on the bare wood floor of a house you have never seen
I miss the way you couldn't understand eternal love
and trees joining together, looking for some solace,
for some kind of family, in the tangling of their branches,
just the way your past lovers lie tangled on the floor
in a heap of pure, animalistic lust.