It's so dark,
the only light spinning,
and your eyes don't look through me.
You see me clear.
Your lips make their way down my body and back up again, and I wish you could
stay longer,
stay the night,
stay with me.
"I don't want you to go," I say,
and the light keeps spinning,
your face green then blue then red,
and I'm tangled up in you beneath my gray covers,
the most comfortable I've ever been.
"I don't want to leave," you reply to me,
quiet words because our volume shrinks as we dig deeper into truth.
I never know if I always say the right things,
and I know I don't always do the right things,
but sometimes you make the world feel right
and I feel like I am included.
Like everything shifts and falls into place
and I no longer need to want,
because there is nothing out of my reach.

Then you kissed me goodbye at my front door
and went home, a little late.
I bit my lip
walked up the stairs
fell into my chair,
and my brother walked in, saying,
"Do you know how fragile this world is?"