Maybe it was weird that I didn’t move my hand

When it rested against yours

Or that I didn’t move my leg when our knees touched

Or that when we slept facing opposite directions

So we could share the same pillow

I pretended to be asleep when my lips touched your forehead

Just so we could be close a minute longer

I know I cry in my sleep

But you don’t have the same dreams I do

And you don’t have that awkward belief

That all people fit like puzzles if you press hard enough

What the hell do you think hugs are?

Or holding hands is?

I know I can’t accidentally fall into you

And sure

maybe it’s weird that I rub my socks into the carpet

With the sole purpose of shocking you

But how else do you make sparks fly?

I know that my life’s story is an open book I tell so well

My pages are shameless

And my words are honest

And yeah

I know I stare at your mouth when you speak

It’s just that

Eye contact freaks me out

And I’m sorry I spaced out while you were talking

It’s just that I was staring at your lips

And I suddenly wanted to kiss you

I know I have no filter

And am practiced in the art of bad timing

And poor explanations

But we’re only human

We only want simple things

Like to be needed by other humans

Go ahead

Need me like a parasite

I’ve already got so much excess baggage

The weight of your monkey on my back

Might as well be an anchor

Keeping me next to you

There should be dents in your memory foam by now

Pretty lady

There are dents in my cheeks from all the smiling you cause me

And I’m pretty sure you could light a match

From the heat in my face

So I am sorry if I can get a little creepy

It just means I like you

There's one thing
I have to tell you.

I can't stop uttering,
anything about you.

Whether its about the midnight rain
and how it describes your voice so well,
or the way you won't stop singing,
till you're satisfied and sewn me to sleep.

If I look at the dark orange spotted afternoon,
or the satin red leaves of autumn.
I'll know its been a while since I've thought
of you.

If I hear the chalky barren concert of concrete,
or the uproar of the arid wind.
I'll have forgotten what your voice
sounds like.

If I feel the reticent tremble of winter,
or the cold bitter piercing destitute bed.
I'll remember why our adulation had
my heart in a headlock.

I cannot give you the world
or my name.
Because I do not own them.
All I can give you is my love and lungs,
that is all that I have and hold.

All I'll ever ask of you is for your voice and love.
You make my head lighter with just
some notes you sing.

A glimpse- and rushing
Your fingers rough
But warm as they find the skin  
beneath my hair-
grasp the back of my neck and
we’re embracing through heavy coats:
a sturdy crush to reach our organs,
placate the crave for your trace.

It’s always elation, first.
A squealing burst I stifle-
My brain is jelly in the station.
It’s a stinging cold but I won’t wear gloves
as we walk home and
our united skin blends as our fingertips
grow numb.

I’ll say, “I’ve missed you”
and mean more- only because the words are missing
and it’s easier – less syllables
to say than to explain
how you’re the colour to my scenery;
and without you, my kaleidoscope gives
only grey triangles.

I just have to admit that my body is astonishing.
My skin is other worldly-
I glisten like an alien goddess.
My heartbeats of its own fruition-
air grows in my lungs and blooms
on the surrounding surfaces. I
have a power that lives between my thighs-
and when I focus it on an object-
that object crumbles in my lusting wake.
My fingernails grow to fierce and frightening lengths
and rap upon the earth with bubbling impatience.
My legs flow like water into my jeans
and ***** out of them.
(I make you question your understanding of words like lady,
*****, ******, sensuality, knowledge and maybe even manhood)
Shoulders that drip delicately with all my emotions-
you can feel my depth in the warmth of  my soul
as your hand grazes the small of my back.
I am every song ever written,
every note ever played,
every thought you have ever had
at an ungodly hour
in ripped jeans
and an off the shoulder sweater.
(I am understated provocative librarian ***
on top of a cool metal desk
next to the life changing novel you read,
my back arching over the paperwork you
can’t begin to think about because
of the way I look laying over them
with one stiletto still on and the other caught on my big toe
calling to you)
My tongue is wet with enthusiasm
My fingers are laced around humanity
Every piece of me is alive with the knowledge
That my body
Is
Astonishing.

It is harder to remember you now,
Not your face, nor your name;
Such things are on record, made permanent
By words and lines on faded page,
But who you were, why we were,
Where the journey ended and
What became of the little pleasure we had.

You were as wind to sail,
Music to rhyme,
Effervescent, a talisman against a
Black world. I am bereft, shallow,
Alone, brought to my broken knees
With the knowledge, the taste of
A life to be lived absent you.

A line can be drawn,
Of best fit, closest conformity,
Tracing both forwards and back
To when you were younger,
Your smile more bright, your
Eyes open wide to a
World all your own.

To see your features weep and sigh
Beneath the weight of passing time
Is naught but devastation.
I invest ungodly hours in
Charting your decline; I
Both wallow in despair and
Cling to hopes of latter-day grandeur.

I dare not look beneath the surface,
Or cast mine eye to past events,
Lest I see further evidence of
Decay and regress.
I fear I could not survive it.
I fear you would be lost,
To me, to this world which
You once so vividly called your own.