I gave up on attending church,
giving myself leeway to roll left, stretch right,
swaddled in the devoted and over emotional covers - of  the white.
I greeted the sun
when it deserved it
and I was ready for it’s rays of fuzzy gold.
I felt alive and welcomed,
being encompassed in it’s rays that clung to me.
And I clung back,
feeling healed by the power that can also destroy.
I was in love with it.
It kissed me.
The kiss of life and death.
Like you do,
soft, slow,
once.
Once.
I want it. I crave it.
I had already found myself longing for your lips
even before the indents on my skin from the heavy bracelets I wore all night could vanish from recirculation.

My leg’s - hands crept from thermo tile to thermo tile,
avoiding cracks- for the life of me.
Those tiles,
slick, hard, unforgiving, and rugged
that’s how I felt-
when I left your driveway that I knew I was supposed to stop and jump out of
and run back to your arms in.
But I didn’t.
Why didn’t I?
The air I’m now breathing alone was toxic,
I’m choking.

But why?
Why can’t we inhale
and build an immunity?
Like real people do.
Loving you is like
loving the sun that’s killing me but always there,
providing warmth I lust after and get burned from as my skin shrieks,
bringing vibrance to my life of white.
Every kiss is damaging and lethal over time
yet the radiation is addictive.

Hold on.
Please.
Don’t let the lambent flames we were adjacent to while studying supernovas-
stampede the stability you felt
when white sheet days turned purple,
and cantaloupe squares reflected orange from the moon,
that was still being reflected from the sun,
that’s always there.
Always.
Don’t take lightly the rest you had
against me on a long ride home-
and I touched your face.
and you knew.
I knew you knew.
I saw your shoulders tense with joy under a tie dye spread of blue and yellow,
and your toes scrunched.
I saw that.

Don’t forget Sundays.
Don’t forget white sheets.