i'd love to write you
love poems
in some essence of the moment
a sliver of remembrance across the page
in hopes that maybe you will
understand
possibly allow both of us to cry
by the time we reach
the last line

(i wrote you
a love poem)(i wrote
you a love poem)(i
wrote you a
love poem)

i want to write you
love poems
in an effort to tell you
the things i have stopped questioning
what i am compelled to do
kiss you softly
link your fingers through mine
and roll over beneath the darkness
in my bed together

(i wrote you
a love poem)(i wrote
you a love poem)(i
wrote you a
love poem)

i'm going to write you
love poems
so i can give you everything
the beat of the moment
all of this laughter
the press of your hand to my heart
those smiles in the corner of the day
when i am happy
or everything is just full
on the level of complete
satisfaction

(i wrote you
a love poem)(i wrote
you a love poem)(i
wrote you a
love poem)
(i wrote you
a love poem)(i wrote
you a love poem)(i
wrote you a
love poem)

so smile
kiss me
but more importantly
i just need you
to be
here

one.
two.
three.
four. i am still breathing.
tonight and every night,
your fingers in my hair as you **** me. hard.
almost to the point where i wish
for no mercy. one.
two. three.
four. five. six.
it's at the point where i no longer question it,
though i am often surprised
by the popular opinion,
for the internet is a bad place to be
when i have questions.
i have been told i should be choking, i should not
enjoy this, there should be no enactment
of agency to be found
within this moment.
one. two. three. four.
five. six.
seven. eight. nine.
ten. and each time i do this
i do not want
to apologize, not for the gasp
that escapes my lips as you bite me,
the grip of your fingers around my wrists,
the whole of your weight against me
as you pin me to the bed, or even
the frantic motion in which i move to kiss you.

for there is no point in questioning
the logic of how my lungs and body
breathe together in this natural state
of being.

the real question is
whether or not i will make you immortal*
as i press my lips to the curve
of your cheek on the page,
feel your fingers gently grasp
around my wrist in a light grip
and sigh.
because this is such a slow moment
in time, stretched out along
the length of my bed
in the soft darkness of the night,
my body wrapped tightly in yours
as the two of us drift off
into sleep.
i do not know any other way
to love people,
but to write the lines
of your body clear across the page,
slowly claw the desire
of what you do to me
along the edge of my skin
as i shudder,
shiver and then collapse forward
into the memory of your arms.
and in doing so, i used to wonder
what you
and other people think of this,
because i will not regret it
in the end,
for this moment existed once
in this type of love,
carved out against the thudding
beat of my heart
as i slowly try to climb
into you, elicit
a smile and a laugh, trace
my fingers through your beard
and eventually fall asleep with
my head on your shoulder
and your arm around my waist.
for we'll exist,
immortal,
as love letters on this page together
long, long after these moments
are over.

and this is different.
or not.
****.
you should push me,
grab me, bite me,
break me, pry me
open along the bed,
kiss me, stroke me,
hold me
together,
still. i keep expecting
something, as if the world
should have shattered,
i should have cried,
whether from complication,
fear or embarrassment, i am not sure.
yet this is normal, almost,
for i am still faintly left
with the rocking sensation
of your inhabitance of my body,
the beat of my heart in knowledge
of the act, the churn of my mind
in remembrance.
****.
you should push me,
grab me, bite me,
break me, pry me
open along the bed,
kiss me, stroke me,
hold me
together,
still.
for i do not feel to have lost
myself yet.

part one*

i was going to write
you a confession
to tell you
i love you (i love you)
probably filled with words about
the way you make me feel
written like all other poems
and all other loves
shared by
other people
so generic that in the end
i couldn't
i was going to write
you a love poem
in confession
about it all
and i can't
not sure why
or how or when
but this relationship is now
everything
not in a creepy or
desperate manner
but in a fashion that it's
slightly too large
to kiss open across the page
in a way that makes
any sense at all
i was going to write
you a confession
to tell you
i love you (i love you)
but instead
wrote one
on why i couldn't

you'll just have to
make do with this

part two*

i told you
i love you (i love you)
quickly without breath
in my memories
of the embellishment
of the act
and the tug of the words
from my lips
in one go
almost to the point where
i wondered if
i'd just thrown
my confession away
i told you
i love you (i love you)
"really?" you asked
really, truly
actually,
probably by now
for long enough that
i am no longer fighting it
and this will only
grow from here
i told you
i love you (i love you)
and you asked for time
but i knew that
before i decided to speak
i knew that as i
opened my mouth
i knew that as
i watched your face
in response and
it's ok
i'll give it to you
willingly

for i see no reason why
we won't get there
in the end

part three*

you tell me
you love me
and i wish to stop breathing
curl my body forward into yours
clutch my fingers
against your shoulders
breath your scent in
and almost will myself to cry
as i am overcome

i hope you know how
happy you make me