I inhale just enough to fill my lungs to the point
where they just might
“pop” but part of me hopes they do.
the hardest part of staying here
is not knowing where I belong afterwards.

I can’t find the right words
I apologize in advance

you sleep with one hand pressed to your cheek
I know this because the other arm is coiled
around my body.
just knowing you are not even centimeters away from me
is the very definition of safety.

I can’t find the right words
to sum up how much you mean to me.
it’s more than just words -
strung together little sentences
but rolling over in the middle of the night,
and hearing you call me “baby” in midst of your dreams
is something I’ve never had
but I think it’s called perfection

still waiting to feel the oceans that moved beneath my skin
when you touched me

still conscious of the way you wrapped your hands around my neck
so possessively, filled with a power I was suctioned to

still remembering the friction between bed sheets
the desperate and lonely kisses we shared

believe me, I'm trying to get it out of my head
I don't want you here anymore

you come walking back into my life
with grace, as I stumble around looking
for the right words that will sum up
these dusty butterflies
who are permanent
in my lungs.

how is it possible
that a hurricane like you
can cause so much trouble
when the flowers just begin to grow,
when the wind returns to the willows,
as soon as happiness finds its way
into my body, you are dancing somewhere
in my subconscious

We went from
sipping scalding coffee
in the front seats of
your car
to not even muttering
a bitter “hello”
in the supermarket.

I can’t explain what you mean
to me within twenty-six letters
of the alphabet. You were a
“big deal”. We were delusional
and blinded,
but that doesn’t mean
I put you in past tense

maybe it’s the mystery
the devilish gleam in your eye
when you receive
from them
from her
from me

I am forcing these words out of my throat
making them bubble in the pit of my esophagus.
I am terrified to bleed these words of red
because the stains will remain long after the sentences fade

maybe it’s the crooked, toothy grin
and the mischievous chuckle that goes hand in hand
or perhaps it’s the way you lick your lips
before stating an opinion
or I don’t know, maybe it’s how soft your stubble can be
when it’s scraping against the inside of my jaw

what I feel isn’t valid because there have been two hundred before me
and I can’t be blinded by thinking that there won’t be more after me