The wind howls as it hits the sheets
A face is hidden that I can't see
A light cold drizzle opens up slowly
Teasing and boiling
The storm drapes over the pillars
Nothing I can see
Fully engulfed as my legs become weak
Paralysis penetrates my body
The wind howls dampen
The pillars descend at rest

flapping on a line
                faded like a hazy sky
        once bright as bluebirds
How I miss your threads
        pale pink
                once scarlet as a rose

Belly to belly
        sheets are packaged
                in pairs
We could frolic
        in puffs
                of air

My clothespin
        to your rope
Come clean
        sweet cotton
                for romance
Laundry
        let’s dance

On the nights you have to leave ill feel the ghost of your breath on my skin in my dreams
Carefully i play the memories of your lips on my lips, my neck, and my chest
The memories of your hands on my hips, my hair, and my wrists
I can hear you say "i love you" and i can feel the "please dont leave me"
I can barely keep my eyes open and when i do all i see is you
Toes curling into the sheets and my fingers curl into your hair and under your chin
I can feel your heart beat against mine and it feels like we are one being
Fit together perfectly

rumble,
tumble,
great big bear,
i know he is,
hiding there,
scratching clawing,
great big bear?
do you know where he's hiding?
where?
under the sheets,
he waits for me,
to growl and claw,
at my feet,
i wake up with marks,
all over my body.
rumble tumble,
do not stumble,
i'm too far away,
to hear you're screams,
you claim the marks aren't from him,
aren't from me,
lightning flash,
thunder crash,
hold my hand,
don't get scratched,
rumble tumble,
i watched her stumble,
she has her own bear under her sheets,
cry and ask why,
why big bear,
must you claw at me?

Three months of me,
Stealing your razor blades,
From your pencil case,
Because blood,
Doesn't stain sheets,

Not on my watch.

Incense smoke lingers heavily in the air,
attempting to mask the smell of stale beer
and spilled **** water.
Arrest warrants hang with straight A report cards
and dated paintings I used to call art.

You and I, woven in between soft and stained sheets
on my hand-me-down mattress.
Our clothes, thrown into heaps on the floor.
I stare at faded, falling posters while you trace my scars
left by a pair of hands before yours.

Buddha watches over dusty photo albums and
half read books I will never finish as
Mary hangs off your neck
watching over an unfinished me.

We lay underneath burned out bulbs of ceiling
string lights listening to scratched CDs skip,
sharing a sweet cigarette.
I know you and I are not forever.
like these walls I have                                                          out­grown.