we're not friends exactly,
not really --
but
we're not more
than that either.
there's an awkward inbetween.

you laugh at my jokes
like you care,
and sometimes
on the rare occasion
you text first --
which is just enough
to trap yourself
in my head.

whatever we are,
it isn't nothing.
but it's never
been right
to call it
something more.

and maybe
that's the worst part --
not the part
where i lose you,
but the part
where i
never really
have you
to call
mine.

i have seen the heaven created in you—  
one they could not understand.  
and so they named it wrong,  
because they could not hold what they feared in their hand.  

you were fire, and i the very same.  
they said we’d burn the world down—  
but all we ever wanted was to be warm.  

her touch: psalm.  
her gaze: prayer.  
and still, they call it sin—  
as if holiness can’t wear soft skin and hold my hand.  

they could not understand  
that when she loves me,  
the sky listens more closely  
and the stars stay a little longer.  

her eyes, gently pulling me in—  
her gaze sweeping me beneath her tides  
as i pry to the surface  
to utter her sacred name.  

and even the breath feels borrowed,  
as if the universe conspired to see it through.  

how can my sin be love?  
oh, they would never understand.

i think the only reason you tell me that

is because you dont want any problems

and that makes it an easy fix

i dont believe you

when you say you love me

this relationship feels like its just on your terms

i keep giving and giving and giving and you just take take take, but you do give the slightest back

it feels like youve tied a stick with a bone on it on my back, so i can smell the bone but cant ever truly get it

i just want to be worthy of your bone

she was dangerous
and in the most
silent form --
she wasn't fire,
but she was
a glance
that always
stayed
too
long.

I miss her,
I miss her perfectly loose curls,
I miss her gorgeous brown eyes,
I miss falling asleep to the sound of her voice,
I miss when she could make me smile when nobody else could,
I miss holding her sharpie-tattooed,
I miss kissing her soft lips,
I miss feeling the warmth in her hugs,
I miss the way she would look at me,
I miss when she'd tell me how much she loved me,
I miss when we thought we were made for each other.

all you are - your body, your soul
it's handmade.
can allay all my pain deep inside that's tearing my throat.
frostbitten hands, chapped lips and the seam has come apart on the wound but,
you're a dragon woven of diamonds,
a lioness shrouded in a thousand soffits,
and only a look from you can heal all my disease.

it might seem like we're so far apart
but inside you are really adored in my heart.

the flame inside me is so blazing,
I'm a volcano that woke up a hundred years later from sleep.
but do not pull your hands, I know, if you touch - you will burn your fingers.

and I wanna keep you as inviolable as you've always been.

i think about her
way more than she knows --
shes like a song
stuck in my teeth,
or a dream
that won't leave my head.
it won't wash off.

she laughs
and i hear it for days.
she touches my shoulder
and my whole body,
instantly tries to memorize
the feeling.

this isn't love,
not yet atleast --
it's limerence.
the unbearable
maybe.
the ache that is shaped
like hope
with nowhere to land.

sunlight spills
across her face,
the warm glow seeping
through the curtains
quietly,
while she sleeps --
like the morning
is in love with her too.

her lashes catch
the warm sun,
like she's dreaming
in golden.
i stay still,
quiet,
gentle --
not because i might wake her,
but because i don't want
to break
the moment.