I wish kisses could leave
scars, and pain
would leave no trace of its
presence behind. I've been
to so many places with strangers
and each time I imagined it was some version of you
with me instead.

Save our own hearts by
entering another. Devouring another.
I'm not sure what love is
but faulty incantations, a changing
forecast in stormy minds.
I'm denying myself again from touching
the truth because

holding someone forever and
into eternity
is difficult to comprehend for
a mind that feels more alone when looking
at the stars,
for someone who feels like an intruder
in the house they grew up
in, and is still searching
underneath doormats for "home".

It would be nice for a breeze to catch
my lungs like a net
and whisk me away from
where I stand
against myself. I'm hoping sooner or later
I'll get lost enough in a warm place
that wholly embraces me in ways
I can't for myself.