i have had these bedsheets for a solid four years
turquoise butterflies flit across a sky of white cotton
embroidering trails in their wake

i knew them well - the loose thread
that i definitely needed to fix
(that i was never going to fix),
the ink stain from a late night art project
that, in hindsight,
i probably should have been a bit more careful with

but now there’s you
lying sprawled across them
a new addition to this map that - until now - i knew so well
and suddenly everything changes
i am in uncharted, unfamiliar territory

but then again, i’ve always loved exploring

oh i know that i’ll die with
your name on my
l i p s

i do not want you.

i do not want your touch;
your hands skimming my hips, my sides
delicate fingers stroking black lace
reverently

i do not want your lips
on my jaw, my collarbone
my neck, my anywhere...
supposedly

i do not want your voice;
a soft whisper in the lamplit glow
that, even after you go, still hangs in the air
wistfully

i do not want you.
i do not want you.
(a mantra chanted under my breath, somewhat
doubtfully)

face alight with
springtime evening glow,
you gaze down at me.
what must I look like to you -
lying in the grass,
a mess of lace and leather
and eyes that scream love
with a volume my lips could never match?

our interlocked hands twitch
and my thumb brushes your knuckles:
a question and a small reassurance,
is this okay? this is okay

lips curl into a smile.
sunlit, sun-kissed cheeks
are rose in this light
and the yellowing sky above you
seems to blush pink back -
it knows the taste of your skin too

I could live in this moment;
to me, forever is a thursday evening in march
lying on a school field
discussing small nothings
endlessly

and if I can't do that,
I will live off this moment;
drinking in the sun
and the sky
and the love in your eyes
and that, my dear,
is food enough for me