it's nights like this

i spend hours reliving
your hands on my skin

i want so badly
to hear you sighing my name
again

tell me you want me

my fingers pluck at every part of you
you love to hate

like strings on a guitar

and oh god
you make the most beautiful sound

your lips are the color of

like if you shot me in the chest and hung around long enough to watch me bleed out

i think it would look like your smile

bright red
and a little bit dead inside

but that's okay

your lips are still the only ones i want to kiss

I'll black out the windows if you pull down my drawers.
Slip on a ****** and lock all the doors.
I'll show you mine if you show me yours.
I'm ready to go,
what are you waiting for?

I'll debase myself if you'll meet me in hell.
Swallow us whole -
the seed and the shell.
The holy unknown along with the rest.

I'll fill you up if you're feeling empty.
Say hello to your hallow.
I'll play your notes on my frequency;
caress the ******* underneath feigned sympathy.

"You complete me."
These and other clichés.
I'll fold you into countless shapes
that contour to fit my insecurities.

Slide through another phase of identity.
Subconscious characters carrying out chores of clarity.
What could be simpler than the contours of your body?
I rest my case.

It made scallops on my shirt, dried like salt
in seashells —
the final appearance of our love.
I
could have mourned it
as if it were more than the possibility of life
disguised by a million tadpoles. A whole

day, it took him to get home
it may be even more
miles than my body fluids travel in a week.
His, still on my shirt. Hits my knees

(always the knees, have built oceans on them)

He thinks he left, but it was I
who cleaned sand castles from all my crevices

he thinks he left, he
the snail
I have
caught up in years of needing to be ******.

He thought he left, but white beaches
are still in my dresser —
it is what remains.
I am so tempted to say, "your *** outlived you"
but it would not be the
first time his **** did the work for him.