kites flew in his mind
& kept his head in the clouds,
forcing me to send messages to the sky
in hope he doesn't take flight
with my world on his shoulders.

he was a traveler
intent on conquering every mountain
he could lay his hands on,
& leaving every atlas
to burn beneath his fingers;
like pain searing on a map of hurt
on his lover's skin -
directionless but in motion.

cigarettes were his staple diet
with beer to wash out
the bitter taste of a quick fix.
his smoke & ashes injected adrenaline
into my wasted body
& set my vision straight
when i was getting drunk off of him
on a monday, or tuesday
(or any day mid-week).
intoxication was a breath of fresh air
on nights when he wasn't -
the nights that i had promised myself
i wouldn't cave in to my
drunken wishes.

spirits gave me spirit
& silenced my thoughts
to allow my body to speak for me
in a language i knew
he would understand.

he kept me close by his side
as he slept through the nights
that the weather shared our bodies' passion,
his heart unable to translate
the song his bag of bones played
into tachycardic rhythm
to match my own.

his arms would curl around
every inch of my being,
holding every ounce of me
but without seeing
that imperial measurements
held little meaning to someone
who quantifies in metric.

last love,
i send messages to the sky
in hope you aren't
my last love.