Her body moved towards me
with grace and fury.
The gusts of her legs
and fingertips swirled
dangerously around my
hips and heart as I sat
breathlessly watching her squall
destroy all the walls
I have built.

It's a risky game to be a storm chaser,
but it's a devastating liaison to
love a tornado.

I am not simple.
I am fierce and fragile.
I know how to break over and over
and I know how to rebuild.

I am your whiskey
and your water.
I am the wolf and the
warrior.
I am...

Bedroom eyes
tell lies of salvation
found between sheets.

Come, come...
We both know
you won't be saved here.

Her poems littered your wall like trophies;
I was close to being one but my words just couldn't contend
with hers
in those perfectly picked frames filled with  the hollow
strings of letters she likely lent to others
before you.

Ghosts of feelings you clung to.
Ghosts you ran from.
Ghosts you worshiped.

I imagine your trophy wall is feeling pretty empty right now,
and you probably don’t want to hang the words I have for you.
But in the likelihood you are curious here’s just two:
Your Loss.

Sorry I didn’t frame them.

Jealousy tastes like her on your lips.
I want you so bad I’m willing to **** and
savor them clean just to find you underneath.

I feel like song lyrics could write our story;
Three words forming the world’s shortest synopsis-

*You should’ve stayed.

Not in some tower, somewhere
locked tight is she, but here
under blood and bone.

She rages like ocean tides
on the chiseled edges of me
that poorly attempt to contain her.

Be still, I plead
I’m trying to be logical,
yet still she storms.

It’s candid to say that
even I am afraid
her force will conquer me.