Poetry is the way my fingerprints are left smudged across your hipbones
the way your hair curls around my scatterbrained fingers

Poetry is the taste of bitterness your 'I love you' leaves in my mouth
and the venomous words you use to fend mine off  

Poetry is the dead kind of feeling I get only from your eyes that seem so warm,
and the discontent I know all too well

Your poetry will be scrawled all over my life, in the messy ink of all of our memories of the nights we weren't too cold for each others hands.