I still don't know if
I've ever "made love"
but if I have
the first time
was definitely with you:

******* on the ***** carpet floor
of your best friend's house
in Tallahassee. we knocked
tattoos against the coffee table
both our knees red
rugburnt from scooting the length
of the living room + hallway.

we moaned into each other's mouths
as our friends passed out drunk
not seven feet away
we tried three positions & your
body told me the last one was your
favorite so we bumped bellies
pulled each other's hair
your chest on my chest
your shoulder blades
drenched in moonlight
small in my careful hands
stars camped in our eyes
you bit my
lip too hard.

I'll never forget the wet way you kissed
my salty forehead as we
climbed connected onto
the couch, but the most vivid
memories from that night
are your legs
still quivering but clenched
ankle locked together at the
***** of my back, & falling asleep
inside you because it
felt like the right thing to do.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay."

"Are you really?"*

                 ...

And I am left speechless.

He didn’t love her for her body.

He loved her for the way she belted out the wrong lyrics while blasting music driving down the highway.

He loved her for the way her eyes brightened like stars on a cloudless night when she saw him.

He loved her for the way she twirled around in her pretty blue dress, barefoot on the soft grass.

He loved her for the way she fumbled over the piano keys, creating a barely recognizable melody.

He loved her for the way she woke up on an early morning, all grumpy and confused, wrapped up tight in a blanket.

He loved her for the way she splashes around in the ocean, kicking the water at him and motioning for him to join her.

He loved her for the way she loved him.

He didn’t love her for her body.

He loved her for her careless, sloppy soul.

If meeting you was lucky,
I am the unluckiest person in the world.

Darling you cannot fix me
For I am not an object
I am a broken heart
But broken hearts are just metaphors
And I am still living
And as long as my heart is still beating
It can't be all that broken
And my lungs couldn't have completely
Caved in if I'm still breathing
And my eyes couldn't have closed out
All happiness if they still open everyday
But if I'm still a beating heart, breathing lungs, and wide eyes
Why does my heart only pump sadness through my veins
My lungs only breathe in hatred and shame
And my eyes only see the things that broke me
Darling you cannot fix me
For metaphorically,
I am a broken heart
Caved in lungs
And hazy eyes

Maybe that's what I was—a wildfire.
You, so sweetly, abandoned the clouds and burst all over me,
but I, as what I should, encircled you with my flames.

You told me to stop burning things dearest to you,
but I bleed, oh, so gently! oh, so passionately!
and left them all to ashes.

Maybe that's what you were—a rainfall.
Always in-between of what I desire
and your battle cry for my last blow.

We didn't say we were a hurricane.
This is my trail, that is yours.
We go together, but we leave our separate ways.

I flickered, I rose, I got out of control.
What else were you there for
if not to watch me swallow the place so fervently
before you can downpour your proudest good bye?