the first time you see yourself
stoplight red across pavement
a shattered Christmas ornament
painting the sidewalk a traffic jam
of your disjointed pieces
you write him a letter

words spiraling from your fingertips
remind him of the fragments he left
closure is an ellipses
missing two of its bullets because
you still see all of him
but you cannot see goodbye

you see infinities of freckled chest
and lips shaped like promises
against your collarbone

when you reach for the needle
to stitch at slivers of exposure
trying blind to quiet the arias
your heart still cries to his
rest easy

the sharpness dulls
the biting empty

Turn the headlights on.

Slow it down
breathe me in,
deeply.
Eyes closed,
skin touching,
slowly stirring,
heat rising.

Watch me want you,
feel me need you,
let tender touches bring thunder
as deep kisses bring rain.

Let your slow hands
feather-light, stone strong
trace shivers
down my supple spine,
as clustered kisses please.

Let our bodies meet
with the grace of angels
as sainted flesh
slowly, silently, succumbs
to sacred sensation
and time silently slips away.

but the more I write,
the more I remember.

Tell her.
Tell her that the way her voice sounds makes your bones tremble.
And the way your name sounds when it rolls off of her tongue is indescribable.
Tell her that if she were to remove your brain from your head, all she'd find is her fingerprints.
Tell her that written along the walls of your heart is her name.
And that this secret that has been locked away in the marrow of your bones cannot be contained any longer.
So go.
Tell her.
Love is not a whisper.
It is not a thought that cowards in the back of your mind when she is near,
And comes back when she leaves.
Love is standing on the top of a building and screaming until your throat bleeds.
Love is igniting a fire that cannot be contained nor put out.
Go to her.
Tell her.