I want the oil of your fingertips
to be infused in my skin,

I'd like to discover strands of your hair
tangled in my clothes,

I want the taste of your sweet skin
to soak into my dry tongue,

I'd like-after a long night-for your scent
to stain every hair on my head,

I wish for you to always be a part of me in all the smallest ways possible.

And that night, we laid half-drunk
in our friend's mother's bed

I, in my trousers
You, in your shorts

We whispered softly
and I held you close

I gripped your hand
and you cradled my heart

I said "If this is the only thing
that will ever happen between us,
I'll still be happy"

We fell asleep and awoke
three hours later; the next morning

I took you out for pancakes and we sat in silence
and you acted as if nothing ever happened.

Let's lay a blanket down on my front yard,

And look up at the constellations while drunk,

We'll hold hands to keep each other steady,

As the world spins madly around us in a blur.

Stomp on roses angrily with bare feet.
The thorns will tear into your skin.

It will hurt, but note how beautifully the color
of your blood will match the pedals.

Pass me the raindrops you've caught on your tongue,

I don't want the placidity of the lakeside water

I don't want the sluggishness of the drifting snowflakes

I don't want the steadyness of the flowing river;

Give me the ones that didn't hit the sidewalk

Give me the ones that the blades of grass didn't drink

Give me the ones that didn't roll off the rooftop,

Pass me the raindrops you've caught on your tongue.

I built a home for you beneath my chest plate,

A creaky little house, but sturdy nonetheless,

With the strongest walls my shaking hands could build,

With plenty of windows for sunlight and chilly autumn winds,

And smooth, cedar wood floors for dancing barefoot,

Then you brought a storm the walls couldn't bear,

That shattered the windows and split the floors,

In my chest, the little house collapsed and tore through me,

The flood came and now I'm building walls instead of little houses.

When did you learn to sting?
When did you
decide your resentment
held you tighter
at night
than when I did?

When?

You breathe on the glass and I can no longer see you clearly,

But at least this tells me your breath is still warm;

That you're alive and well,

So I think I'll be okay for now.