The guava is rotting; it is almost tangerine season

And the rain will come, the softest kind, the crowning kind

Before the one who pushes onto shore

And washes the whole year away.

My thoughts are wet already, damp with goodbyes;

I will not miss these long months spent without you.

I will not miss the memories I made

In the shadow of your silence

Staring down my vices around midnight, and wandering out to the lanai

The moon heckling me

With a vision of your silver skin, blue veins like rivulets left behind

When the tide cuts through sand.

Sweet one, there will come a time, I hear

When this will be behind me

When I will forget the silk of your tongue

And what your eyes look like by the sea, blinking

Content

For once

I will not remember each freckle on your body, the skim of my hand

Across the soft top of your head, catching strands

Threads I now wish

I'd braided, and could wear like a rosary

As I worry them with my fingers, solace

In missing you

One day

Maybe by the time the ohia bloom, red as fire, unblighted

I will have forgotten you

Or maybe, the ruthlessness of their color

The story of their scarlet blossoms against the blue sky

Will make my heart bloom

Will make

All these long months, all these moments I spend longing

For who I thought you would become

Fresh

And bitter

As a lilikoi. I will wait. I will wear silver, my love

And forsake the moon

Befriend the rain

And I will wait.