pardon me
if i say too much,
but frankly
i don't give a ****.

"there is a type of jellyfish that lives forever," you once told me.
and i found myself wishing that we could be those jellyfish,
so we can float on these waves
for the rest of our days
and these spindly legs of ours will always stay intertwined.

you are the sun peeking out from behind the most overcast of skies.

and maybe we're just a big mistake.
one big accident waiting to happen.
but i'm willing to find out.

because we're caught somewhere in this clusterfuck of life choices and misplaced responsibilities,
and it's easy to lose your way.
it's hard to keep your chin up, to keep your eyes on the horizon.
it's easy to lose yourself in the crossfire between
the clarity of honesty and haze of parked cars lit by streetlights,
between hushed confessions and questionable decisions.

but baby, i'd rather be lost with you than know my way alone.

you'll never know, dear, how much i love you.

do you think of me at night? what makes your mind hopelessly drag me to the active levels of your conscious?
have i etched myself into your skin, fingernails clawing at your back, begging for you to let me in?
have i sank my poison beneath your skin, teeth to the flesh of your shoulder?
do you hear me moan in the ringing of your ears?

any day that i'm without you,
i feel empty and hopeless and lost.
you bring a light to my life that i
forgot could exist.
and without it, i
don't think i can find my way.

i'd do anything for you to hold me together like you did that night.
i need someone to help me in ways i can't articulate.
i want that someone to be you.

but this sticky sickness has me so weighted down
that i don't know what way is up anymore.
it chokes me out until i can't ask for you again.
it leaves me struggling to breathe
in even the smallest of conflicts.
i want it to learn to fear you.

no, they don't speak a word. not here.
lips press to thighs;
tongues, slick with anticipation, know their way around this room.
their language is caught in the throats they bite,
choked back by the hands
that dig their tracks next to the spine.
they're somewhere between a first kiss and a last ****,
suspended but somehow tethered in a web of lust and lies.
their emotional open wounds or their physical caverns,
no one is quite sure what needs to be filled more.
skin is pressed so tightly to skin that the sweat can't drip; they just slide.
'laced fingers and foreheads pressed together,
there's no room for honesty. not here.