some men and women
will scale you from 1 to 10
like they have lived within
the outlines and inlines of your body,
like it's your fault the moon has craters
or a crow was born albino
or death is inevitable

but they have only seen
the curves of your waist
when they should have seen
the curves of your cerebrum,
blooming with constellations on every turn;
they have only seen
the bumps of your biceps
but they should have seen
the bumps of your big heart
pumping rivers of stardust on every cycle
because you are not a 1 nor a 5 nor a 10—
you are a hundred

it is not your fault that
you carry cosmos in your veins;
i am proud of you—
it must be difficult to handle
that much beauty and power

and this is why their scales
only last up to 10—
because they can only see
the milky way
when you are
the whole universe

she loved spaces
like fishes hated aquariums
and birds despised cages;
you will see it in her paintings
and writings
and eyes,
because she's always
somewhere else
right now.

but she hated spaces
like the moon loved the sun,
and norths wanting each other,
because she's far too deep
in her own thoughts,
that when she
needed saving,
there was no one;
she drowned.

do you remember
the night we danced
and you told me
i was moving offbeat,
fast and crazy?
i wasn't really
listening to the music;
in fact, i couldn't hear it.
all i could hear
was the sound of
my heartbeat.

my fears have turned you into coffee,
like the first sip, the first drink, the first cup I emptied,
or my sweet fave, the one i drank just this morning;
a delight i swore of no dependence, no addiction,
in a fright of a possible future of wakeful nights of overthinking.
you are caffeine, you are sugar, you are my favorite drug,
and i know in time, you'll leave and fade into minute traces
but for now, won't you dwell a little longer in my veins?
please?
stay.

if feelings were paintings,
and we painted for each other
i'd paint you galaxies,
the kind of beautiful mess
my whole being gets into
at your mention of my name

if feelings were paintings,
i'd paint you fireworks,
the kind of heartbeat i get
when your eyes crinkle,
like your mouth isn't
enough for your smile

if feelings were paintings,
i'd build you a gallery
of walls and ceilings
painted with love,
so that even when the
floorboards creek,
and you feel weak,
you would feel loved

but if feelings were paintings,
and we painted for each other
i don't think that
i could look at yours
for fear of finding out
what little you have
for me