i. for stories sake id like to say it was the first time you held my hand and part of me will always believe that but something else inside of me says it was the first time your fingers interlocked with mine and you knew you loved me. the silence between us was comfortable, you and i of course didn't need to say anything that our hands couldn't. your thumb stroking across my knuckles was all i really needed to begin my never ending stumbling for you, and the comfort i got from looking down and accepting our new attachment was the proof i needed that i would never, ever regain my balance as long as your fingers rested comfortably against mine. (they always will)

ii. i strike matches with more force than the first time you kissed me but they have the same effect (you shine light on the good) and that's what made me fall for you again. i think i was so scared to feel the curve of your mouth against mine because i feared that some of the illness i harbor would jump from my parted lips to yours and burn right through you, blistering your pretty skin. i realize now what little faith i had in your good nature and ability to still love me even though the bad swirls around inside of me like a forest fire. clearly you're the relief i need, for every time your breath meets a new spot of me i feel the ache inside of me begin to dull (as well as awaken something new) and i find the healing i wasn't even searching for in your touch.

iii. thoughts turned to words and words turned to line after line of you, my poem with feet, and i knew id fallen for you again. your very essence leaks through every stanza that slips from my mind and i can see the words falling from your eyes with every flutter of your dark, dark eyelashes; the only problem is that no matter how many ways i mix up the same 26 letters i can't properly express what you make me feel, and i think the sooner i realized that, the better off i was because your mouth on mine is the only poetry i really need.