Not mine. But hers.
I can read longing.
It is a dialect I have spoken
not too long ago. She is liquid.
Fluidity coursing through ink to paper.
My mind is damp from searching
words that are able. To distinguish
the soul that is you. My hands tremble in envy.
Anxiety has gripped me. As if I could swoon
you over with rhyme and meter.
Your imagery pulsing in stanzas.
My pieces cannot satiate
the art of your being. Impressions of qualities
I have grown fond of leave my paragraphs
in disarray. When all this is over,
I hope to find you in my writing.

Allow me to sink my teeth into you. Tear the parts of you that aren't mine. Spend my starlight on piecing you anew. I will make you forget. I will make us forget. Until the lines on your face turn into curves, will my crestfallen soul rest. I will sigh my name into your mouth until you crave for every syllable, until you grow disdain hearing it from different lips. We can be selfish now. We can be each other's now.

I carry around with me a heart so heavy. With all my regrets,
My mistakes, my doubts, and my intimate fears, I drag around
This taut abdomen around strangers on tainted sheets.
What a chore it is being chained to this relic. I’m tired
of the sluggish motions of this metronome blanketed
in wax and insect wings.

No amount of body heat and midnight whispers could thaw
The frost on my skin. I’m too cold to touch
And too distant to grasp. The thoughts I have
Are glazed in indecision.

Don’t cling to my chest. Don’t hang on to this carcass.
Your affection is wasted on these brittle bones.

If I pull hard enough,
Will it drag your body down?
To this earth,
To this very moment in time,
To be with me,
They say it’s fate. What brought us together
Is the stuff of myths and legends.
Do I have to be afraid of a cloaked figure
Cutting it down?
Taking drastic measures, taking his biggest pair of scissors
Making an incision we won’t even feel. The loss
Of missing out on what could be a wonderful union
Borne out of a tiny red string tied
To our pinky fingers.