Your veins allure me,
The way they create currents in your skin
Along your arms.
I ponder what makes your heart beat so fast
That blood pumps through them faster than it should.
Where have you been cut?
Can I slide into one of the slices so I can swim your veins
And be a part of you?
Can I nest in your heart and make a home there?
You've got permanent residence in mine,
Because have you seen yourself?
You're as beautiful as the sunsets and oceans and trees and beyond what the all magazines say.
You're as alluring as the veins in your arms that rise up in your skin.
Let me in, let me swim your veins and mind.
Can I make your blood pump?
Will your veined arms hold me?
I'd let you into my blood stream
If you'd let me into yours.
Can I make your blood pump?
The way you have no idea you're utterly breathtaking sure gets mine flowing.
If you ever feel a slice again,
I'll kiss at it until you've healed
And I'll show you my scars too.
Your veins allure me,
But dear, the rest of you keeps me 'round.
When you're ready, I'd love to trace your veins with my fingertips
And then my lips.

A year ago I would've killed to have you say "miss you",
But now you're too busy killing your liver to even remember our last conversation.

A year ago I could have listened to you talk for days,
But now I listen to your slurred speech and you covering the phone to answer someone else.

A year ago I would have taken every call from you,
But now I take them so I know you're simply still somehow alive.

A year ago I did miss you,
Now that's the person I still miss, if I even ever come close to actually feeling for you.

A year ago my grandma said you would someday miss me as she wiped tears from my eyes.
Now it's that someday she spoke of and I can only wonder how drunk you may be.

A year ago you missed me by not caring;
Now I'm returning the favor.

I stopped looking for you in my sheets and dreams and finally found rest.
I stopped looking for you in coffee shops and lost myself in the simple joy of solitude and tea.
I stopped searching for your car as I drove around town because I'm too busy singing over the radio with the windows down.
I stopped telling stories about us because I'm busy creating new ones.
I stopped the salt water trails awhile ago with the dimples in my cheeks when I realized that there is still a lot to smile about.
I stopped hoping this wasn't actually the end because it was actually just the beginning.
I've also got to stop writing about you, because your page in my book is full and if I keep writing about you, I'm just scribbling over old entires.
It's time I stop rereading the chapter of you.

I spent too much on the ticket,
Spent more than I should on a fare.
I spent too long en route,
Too long on a plane in the air.

I touched down and felt my temples pulse,
My body stiff from sitting for so long-
I didn't know if this would be worth it,
Nor did I know if I'd been wrong.

Was this worth the effort?
Was this worth the time?
My questions had answers
When I finally saw your eyes shine-

In an airport terminal,
Across the way from me.
The tickets didn't matter,
Nor did my sore body.

The distance disappeared,
Your hands found my frame-
You're holding me and you whisper,
*"I'm so glad you came."

Sheepishly, pathetically still writing about you and it is just who I am.

I am the girl who clings until I see you clinging to someone else.

It was programmed into my DNA, my veins and skin to love you until I am assured you do not even think of me, not even by accident in your sleep.

It was programmed into my heart to pour out affection even if it meant spilling out like a full glass knocked off of a table, making a scene and a mess to clean up later.

I don't know any other way to move on than to write. I can't fathom making it out of this without pen and ink, sadly at your expense.

Ink is in my veins and you were once too.

I'll try bleeding you out on paper in hopes that some odd number of poems later, you'll be mere rhymes and word play.

Writing about you is all I have left and I hope it's all that is left of you in me.

I know you're far and can't be reached so I hope these poems and words are like pulling rocks out of my shoes and pockets so I don't feel weighted down by the thought that you've moved on and I haven't.

Don't mistake these words for an attempt to keep you around. I'm trying to get you out, one ink stain dripping out of a sliced vein at a time.

Progress is slow, and if I am not patient or kind to myself in the process of progressing, I will cease to make any.

Progress appears more and more over time. If I don't give it time, I will have squandered any chances of moving forward.