This is What I Remember

I kept crumpled pieces of you hidden in the niches of my clothes.
Dreamed about all that you entailed.
Lapped up your exhaled air as if it could save me.

I used your body to fill the off-white rooms of a empty house.
Echoes absorbed by your shirt on the floor.
Silence banished by labored breathing.

I had yet to lose all of the saccharin innocence that kept me so thin.
Bones were still growing then.
Parents were still vaguely loved.

I had yet to lose all of the saccharin innocence that kept me so thin.