This notebook and I share a secret,
which I will never reveal.

This notebook, on the other hand,
has at times sleighted me slightly.

This notebook is not to be trusted,
for if I trust it, I may be betrayed.

This notebook and I share a secret;
it will never be told lest I talk.

Raindrops fall on the roof
the way your hands touch my skin.
Your fingertips, light and dragging,
become more insistent,
speaking of the storm about to come.
I feel your palms
heavy on my shoulders.
The tiny hairs on my nape
stand straight up
in response to your thumbs.
Your lips and tongue taste
the one vertebrae
that sticks out at the base of my neck
soft as wind through the grass,
but my insides quiver
through the thunder you create.
When your hands come around to my sides
my stomach shivers,
rippling because your nails tickle
before they dig into my curves.
I gasp through the sensation,
unable to otherwise move with my body in shock.
Tingling pleasure courses up and down beneath my skin
my body as charged as the air
when the clouds have rolled in
but the lightning has yet to strike.

I’ve found religion in your smile.
Trusted the way it curves, practicing
the lines in my mind with delicacy,
ripening your image until it’s sore.
Your throat baptizes me,
replaces the devil of my intentions
with sweet, rosy breath,
curling my inhibitions until they dive
back into me and I express my very desires
openly on a blanket--
and it’s no sin
because I love the way your spine stands
like a perfect cross, carrying me
to the vision you have of a better me
than what I used to be.
I’ve prayed for your thighs in naughty ways,
but you’ve taken my hands,
folded them into shapes I can’t comprehend
and kissed my fingertips until I was crying
out of confusion and catharsis,
finally understanding what it feels like to count
people, you, as a blessing.
I see God when you make instruments
out of blades of grass, or how that strap
slides off your shoulders when the wind
graces the moment with a whisper.
He gave me an angel disguised as a woman
with too many pillows on her bed and coffee breath,
but you pull me from point to point like taffy,
slowly, lagging, molding me into the gift
you never wished for. I, bestowed at His feet,
unwilling found a soul and a heartbeat
louder than any of my unforgiving words.

All These Pillows

          *I still  wish

                    You were holding

                                   *Me

I lost my mind
So I could find
My soul