i open my arms to the wind
and find it uncomfortably still

there is something eerie
about the way you
can be submerged
in something
(or someone)
but feel nothing

i wave my hands
back and forth
like a cab-call
to feel it on my skin

the first time
a boy kissed me
i asked him
not to.
he held me tight
while no one was around
told me he would not
let go until i did.
i called it love.

now i write poems.
and maybe i shouldn't write poems
for men that i have only looked at from across a room
and maybe i shouldn't tattoo his name
in hearts on my arms
and go on honeymoons before the wedding

but if i'm being honest
i have so much to give
that the fantasy of you and me
makes me think that maybe
up is down and down is up
and that for once, maybe
falling might not be so bad

when you teach me parkour
you tell me there are softer ways to land
tuck, roll, spin out, land gently on your toes
falling is not the worst thing if you do it right
but it takes time to learn
and if i am honest
i am writing love poems before
i've learned to rhyme or reason
recite to you my flat lines
trying to turn the snaps into
a CPR jumpstart for love
plug into you
a broken battery,
just trying to recharge
all of my rusty parts
that I, lay before you
as if getting *******
would fix the gaping
hole in my chest
thats been out of
commission for years now

when you tell me i am _
and introduce me to your best friends
i feel the walls fall down
like piles of clothing around us
like makeup washing down a drain
like scrubbing rust off an old pan
i stand here raw and real, and still
you tell me i can stay over
for the first time in a long time
i say "id like that"
press two lips to a forehead
and two hands to a chest
take a moment to take in
the man that is
lying so beautifully next to me
lying so beautifully next to me
lying so beautifully to me
my body hits pavement