I’ve been wrestling this since last fall, peeling my socks off around 2a.m. and crawling into my nightmares like a child on her hands and knees. I’ve tossed my hair in the towel, examined the scratches on my back or the bite mark on my shoulder, juxtaposing them to my flaws, prying myself open and watching the little memories flood from my arteries like insects. I’ve ******
the energy from my cheeks and given it to my bones so they may carry the weight of last year into this year, the heavy balance between leaving your room and sitting myself against the frame, legs to my chest, listening to the unheard voices telling me to stop loving you. I’ve cut
you out like bruises on a strawberry, throwing the bad parts into the black hole to be grinded and deposited as to be rightfully grown into something new. But this time,
after we made love on your floor and counted the stars that left my mouth every time you touched me like that,
I let myself cling to the light. I stuffed the empty parts with your remnants, and latched onto the goodbye kiss. I’ve been wrestling with you
our bodies so close
since the summer ended and we rejoined the feelings we spared just to pretend that we didn’t hear the kettle roar when we were finished.