You are the night
Pulled in tight

Hair tangled
Around my fingertips

Sweet nectar of neck
Honey gold permiance

I wouldn’t call it ****** frustration
I’d call it intimacy frustration
I just want to
sit in comfortable silence with you
read a book together
gently touch lips for just a second
or hold your hand
I want to write a poem together
and discuss philosophy all night
I want to devour your thoughts
and return the favor by sharing mine
those late night conversations
that’s what I want
but can’t have

maybe this was supposed to happen
maybe you were supposed to let me go
and I don't blame you--
my darkest deepest parts leaked out
into your broken hands and like
wine they stained--
some days I still feel like needing you
some days I feel at home--
written in the stars our heartbreaks
led us to each other
then led us both away--

Falling in love with a poet  
is wanting to consume their words as sustenance
it’s wanting to swallow each letter for nourishment
it’s seeing yourself reflected in their stanzas
and making love to an iambic tempo
It’s falling in love with words

I want to devour you
like Saturday morning cartoons
and a bowl of coco puffs

dust
but in this case
it's not magical
like the times we used to spend together
or that of a pixie
it's just a sign of your absence
coating the things you left behind
-- Dad