Thump. Thump. Thump.
The blood fills our hearts and rushes
through every crevice of our bodies.
One. Two. Three.
We breathe in unison as our hearts travel
And our thoughts diverge into particles,
bright as the stars, but strong as my heart.
My cold and bruised cheek makes love
with your warm and red cotton shirt.
Eyes closed, I take a leap of faith.
Failed me before, I cross my fingers and jump.
I fall into your arms and dissolve into you.
Engulfed by the stench of your sweat,
the warmth of the skin baptized me.
Swish. Our skin mingles like newlyweds.
Honeysuckle. Honeydew. You’re sweet.
I miss you.
The sun tattoos the red you give me,
a reminder of a week on Calypso’s island.
Emerald and pearlite. Eyes that enchant.
Your freckles make Bermuda’s triangle
a perfect landing point.
So safe but so unknown. Mary Magdalene
No wonder I fall, you are gravity.
Bring me down to earth. Away from the
Burning sun. Apollo rapes Artemis.
As he prophets my fate. Poetry.
I ignore the stars and their cries,
as together here and now, I am infinite.
Soaring like a bird on ecstasy. I believe.
A crusade brings me to faith. Love.
I wrote this poem after spending a week with someone I care very much about.
Flies swat. Red pavement.
Bite my thumb to the anthill
in which I rest awake.
I have loved you since the day that I saw you. Sitting
on the windowsill. Young and naive—you were young and mean.
But different. Careful, paternal, Dependable.
I pour out half of my heart in an SMS format.
Ignored with a wet wing. It would dry. I distanced
We distanced. I ate a danish to make me feel full. No fruit.
My legs shook. Your name made me quiver.
Next turn of the sun there you were. Standing
in the stairwell, happy, friendly, New.
I fell down a rabbit hole. I can’t get back up
Your friend… another. I’m waiting for you in a peach dress.
Your eyes are blinded by the smell of honey. Sweet.
It stings you. You run away.
You came home. I smell like vanilla and cinnamon.
Pushing my warmth away you crave the snow.
Chocolate, chocolate that’s all you are.
‘Swounds. I clean them too. Soft and patient, it stings.
The alcohol helps, I cure. You scratch at the scab.
****** Mary; I am not your mom, I take a sip.
Your trust in my hands, Your heart on your sleeve.
Awaiting my heart to dissolve in your tea like Vitamin C.
— The End —