“There were days I wanted out.
But then you would go and do things
like dive into the Vancouver ocean,
big brilliant cliché poem that you are,
water rolling off your back
as you swam toward a sunset
that hung like a sacred recipe painted
all the way around your holy head.”
I turn over
and remember
that you sleep quietly
in the corner of my bed
and the slightest move
of a limb I make
has your hand reaching out
to feel me next to you
like how I felt
the first morning
I was able
to spend a whole day
in bed with you.
I fell in love in a January.
It would be five months
and nine days
until you kissed my leopard print skin.
I was porcelain and only kissed people I loved.
You were my first.
In dark we were light.
We slid between holes in jean pockets
and held our hearts beneath street lights.
We are fucking magnetic.
The axis in our stomachs kept us molded
and we clung to each other,
even when nothing was left.
In the morning we were silently electrifying.
The sunlight of seven a.m brought our bodies closer;
our limbs intertwined with one another and by eleven a.m.
I wanted you in my bed for as long as I could have you in it.
Two hundred and four miles
and I am sleeping in a bed made for two.
We bleed more often than others
but we are so fucking gifted.
Together I have watched you grow.
Even when you were not here
I held your pain in my palm.
Your mouth
scarred novels on my skin.
We laid horizontally on my bed.
Your fingers
ran over my tears and said,
“Look at me.”
My heart
has stopped a million times
for you.
I fell in love in a January.
Fifteen months
and fifteen days has passed.
We slept the whole day away.
In and out of sleep,
your hands ran a long my outer thighs
and the love in your eyes stayed apparent
so I am able to remember
until we are together again.
I still feel you here.
I fell in love in a January.
You were my first.
And you are
my last.
I’ve realized more than most things
that I am not alone
just waiting to be opened up again
by you
I’d like for you to take
all the important parts of my body
I told you this
as you slid one hand down south
towering over the cliffs and rightfulness
of my precious anatomy
that you call home
There still isn’t a day
where I have stopped
climbing mountains
on your laugh lines
where I had forgotten
the sugar coat your lips
left on my skin
where I had forgotten the love
you filled me with
And your mouth tastes very good
when you kiss me like that.
I am not alone.
he’s here now.
sometimes I think
he’s gone
then he
flies back
in the morning or at
noon or in the
night.
he’s mine.
my bird of pain.
And my head keeps racing back to the last time you were in my bed when it was late and the lamp was on and I was crying and we were laying on my bed horizontally and you wiped my tears and said, “Look at me.” I think my heart stopped.
I think about people all the time that have to go through their lives feeling mediocre feelings that they think are real, or have to see people who never go through things to admit that it has changed and shaped them as a person. I am so grateful for my heartache. Though it has given me sadness it has given me so much to know. People always define love as their own definition but there is so many people that never get to experience the passion that comes a long with it. I feel sorry for those people.
No truer words have ever been spoken.
You are so strong.
Please call soon.
“For this moment, this one moment, we are together. I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob.”
I knew it then, you weren’t scared of loving me anymore - you just did. It was so beautiful.
