And this.
This is what
it could
be like.


                                                                                                   And this.
                                                                                              This is what
                                                                                                    it almost
                                                                                                    was like.

I'm thinking about hands again.
                                               I'm thinking about
            how yours are big
            and mine are small
and how yours fit
                                nicely
                     around my throat
mine claw at your back
and i gasp
                                                        …fu­ck me

And I'm thinking about your steadiness
                           and my shakes
        and about how we both create
                               universes
with just our hands
                 and our lips
                         and our teeth.

I'm thinking about how
          my hands would like to find yours
in the dark
              and rest in it's spaces
                             under your ocean
              of blankets,
    like an empty glass waiting
to be filled.

You are lightning bolt.
               (electric shock to my skin)

You taste like
                   hot
          floridian
                         summer
Sound like
                  thunder storm
                                falling
                   ­                        on dry asphalt

And I want to tell you
you felt like homecoming
                       (even though you were always leaving,
                                                    and i was never staying)

I saw the flowers in your mouth
          and I wanted to taste them
                     wanted to take them for my own
  but I wasn't ready
                       to be
                  selfish
            with you
                       yet.

Perhaps we'll meet
again in a city
                                       much larger
                                          than ours
And I'll fall in love with your flowers
                                              again
*(and­ perhaps this time,
                                I'll let them grow)

I think
           there are flowers growing
                                    out of your
                       mouth.
You taste like weeds:
         Wet and
   muddy.
                                      Our roots
                                         or legs
                  tangled
in the dark              once
and I thought I remembered safety
in the vines
           But now they have
                                            all
                                                 been
                            stripped
away.

Now,
          I am like this empty house.
I am all cuts
         all bruises
         all dirt
And it hurt          when you left me
                     but I
            am still standing
The
      foundation
                       is
                          cracked
              but still strong

we didn't talk. of. the. weather.
except to concede
its power over sub//lime sleep
Our hushed
Whispers
of what
Set
our
Skin
on
f...^^i...^r..^^e
,,...the wet
longing
in the the pages of
a French harlot
,... the empty spaces left
When love
Is 》》》 gone
& how kissing
Should be done only
by,...°°hours°°...
How melodies
can leave us n.a.k.e.d
& time and space
are tiny matters
when the stars aro{we}und collide

no,...we didn't speak of
^little^things^
We lost our hours in
ThE WoRdS
and it's the teary
re// col// lec// tion of this
That has me typing
At 3 AM
..._again