And every night
I asked myself
The same question
"When will I stop thinking about you?"
And every night
Every answer
Silence

As I lie with you,
your heartbeat knocks against my ribs,
a bell tolling deep in the chapel of my chest,
calling me down an aisle that only exists in blood

Your breath drapes across my skin,
a veiled tugged by invisible wind,
thin lace of sound that makes the silence holy

The veins in your wrist guide me like ribbons,
leading me forward,
row by row of my own devotion
to a ceremony no one else can see.

Your lips, parted,
rest like unopened vows,
a promise sealed in silence
and yet I answer, against your sleeping mouth:
I do, I do, I do.

Your hair burns against my cheek,
ginger strands glowing like altar flames,
and your blue eyes , watchful, endless,
press into me like stained glass,
fragile and holy.

The flowers you once gave me,
Wilted now, their petals crumble to dust.
I scatter them across the aisle of my chest,
Their faded bodies marking the way to you.

I take your hands in mine,
fingers trembling across cold marble,
and feel them guiding me,
not to rings or vows,
but to the altar of your pulse,
the living hymn beneath your skin.

Your voice, even unspoken,
is an *****’s echo,
a hymn written in the rafters of my chest

And as I walk this wedding
That never leaves my body,
I realize the kiss never comes,
the vows never spoken,
the doors never open
Only the hush of your chest rising and falling.

It is all what could have been:
a ceremony lit by the pulse of your wrist,
a marriage carried only by my blood,
an ending carved into silence,
a marriage written across our bodies,
a union sealed in my longing.

And you,
you are both bride and ghost,
wrapped in my arms yet slipping through them,
leaving me to whisper forever
into the hollow of your throat:
I do, I do, I do

Carried my heart in silence,
stitched it shut with resolve,
but your shadow pressed against me
until the seams began to fray.

I told myself I could hold it,
that you hadn’t earned the weight,
but your love has a way of begging
to be handed over anyway.

So here it is, raw and shaking,
the pulse I swore I’d hide
a flickering flame in your hands,
too bright, too fragile,
too much of me to take back.

I am not winning anymore.
I am not guarding anymore.
I am standing bare before you,
letting you feel how I break
when you breathe, when you turn,
when you leave.

Take it, then.
My heart is yours,
and with it, every reaction,
every silence, every storm.

This is what surrender looks like:
not in war,
but in love
losing myself
so you can finally see me.