i wrote this in pencil on the last page of the book you gave me.
you were a boa constrictor when i came to revisit you. you were shiny and new. i realized that i dont shed, like you do. you slithered around with a flickering tongue and it tickled my neck but made me nervous. i didnt know if you were planning to make me your prey, or play. you did neither. but you swung form the branches of your new home, oblivious of my desire to engage with you. and when i left, i left whole, untouched, and defeated. i found your dead skin in my jacket pocket. it crumbled between my fingers into thin flakes. as i walked along the land that was no longer my home, i spinkled your old skin across the sunken expanse, crowded with too much beauty that i couldnt help but feel regret.