The first time we sang American Pie together was in the backcountry, in a lush valley that buried itself amongst giants of scree and misted pine trees. Pressed against our little world was a lake out of a Tchaikovsky movement, but we had no swans, no symphony to accompany us, just the hallow wind and our voices. The voices that tangled with a few others to guide us through the elegy, imagining Don Mclean’s voice, soft and faint, coming from the breeze. The breeze that blew through my hair, through my chest that rose softly while I sang. I wanted to sound like a bird, a morning dove, a haunting echo. 

The second time we sang American Pie together was when I was draped over you in my dimly lit dorm room, with lights I thought were stars if I squinted my eyes hard enough. Red wine stained our minds and soaked our breath, drunk against your mouth that you let me sing into. You sang right back into mine. Quite lyrics filled the room, reverberating softly over your grey lighter, my discarded jeans, off our chests. You kissed me the thicket earlier, and I held your face and told you that you were the prettiest boy I had ever seen. I hope you remember that, and remember me. 

I traced your collarbones over and over again. I couldn’t help myself, the light pooled in the middle where your neck met them so effortlessly, a celestial piece. I decided my tongue fit better against the full moon in your chest, and you hummed against me. It numbed my lips and I could feel your heartbeat, it sent my lips red with every beat. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. Beating fast, quick like our breaths. Quick like our hearts. Quick like we were. 

Was all it took for us to collide fermented grapes and a dirt-covered path through the woods? You let me put my fingers in your mouth while I could see your stomach rise and fall with every hint of desire, you moved my hair back so you could see my whole face and kiss my forehead, you held me while we slept on the floor. You liked me underneath you, and you liked to whisper how you would fuck me in a skirt into my ear. So hushed and muffled and secret, now you can barely look me in the eyes when I say hello to you. 

What happened to that god laying on my floor? The one illuminated by squinted stars with the moon in his chest and the prettiest smile I had ever seen. I could write odes to that universe you stirred, and I hate you for it. Why can I not keep a moment in a moment? I should let it be, let it lie. So instead of our cosmos stitching themselves back together, I’ll keep you tucked under my tea bags and school books. Tucked under the mangled trees of the path and under the grass where you set your flashlight on the ground and taught me how to swing dance. Under the carpet where we leaned against each other and whispered American Pie. Under the morning dove that now calls to no one outside my window. Just meet my eyes and smile when you see me next, it’s all I ask to keep you buried.