he is everything
and i am something nice
to have whenever he’s got spare time.

he is the orbit and all of the above,
i am the forgotten shoe
decayed and aged
and lost

and i feel like i’m in his orbit
tumbling and turning
around him,
motion always around him
closer further closer further

and (i know) it’s wrong to feel lucky
when i get him for just a small moment
because shouldn’t he want that moment as much as i do?

it’s wrong to feel empty and
cold without him
because doesn’t that mean he makes up my wholeness?
my being?
my soul?

doesn’t that mean i am lost?
i am nothing?
that i never really knew myself in the first place.

those moments are poison.
they bleed and blister
and burn and burn

they hurt

they’re honey
drowned bees

perfectly content

and i can’t find a way to end this violent cycle
festering within
obliterating me from
the
inside out

because those moments are heaven
they are

and they’re the only place i ever want to be
and the only place i need

when nothing else matters
and nothing else is real
nothing but his lips on my neck
and my hand on his cheek
and the heat
and the burn
and the want

is what i crave.

the want.