I want to teach you
The language of my hands
For they can at times
Be so very much more eloquent than I
More subtle than my sometimes clumsy tongue
Less prone to stumbling or misstep.

Every touch can be a poem
There are volumes written
Upon the lines of palms
Comfort in the creases, reassurance
Love, desire, solace, all find voice
Buried in fingerprints.

All that I cannot speak
In the space where words fail
Or have not the proper definition
Let my hands tell you
By caress or grasp
Variations of pressure or attitude
In perfect, silent eloquence.

That way, even the simple
Lacing of fingers twining
In knots of flesh and bone and nerve
Can be a conversation
Between our pulse
The unsayable become known
Described perfectly
As a slight squeeze.

no matter how tightly we are wrapped around each other. no matter where your hands lay on my body. no matter where my head lays on your shoulder. on your chest. I will try to pull you closer, and closer still.

we could be in the tightest of embraces. with my legs wrapped around yours like vines on a tree. my hair in your face, the scent of my shampoo filling your nose. your hands grasping the small of my back. I will try to pull you closer, and closer still.

I think neck kissing is the sweetest thing a person can do, other than hug you from behind and kiss you or morning kisses. It could be a major turn on to some people, but I think it all depends on how the other person kisses your neck. They could absolutely devour your neck and it could turn you on, or they could leave light kisses and make you fall in love with them so much more. Either way, neck kisses are the best.

A brush against my neck from your lips
The goose bumps left behind by your finger tips
You take my breath away
With every single kiss
Your touch is impossible to resist

I did not fall for you too hard yet
but i still have a bad feeling in tummy
from when we said we would stay just friends.
I think I feel upset,
because of how easily i could have pictured
falling in love with you.

I could have seen us watching our favorite TV shows together
and cuddling up on a cold day,
i could have see us getting too high together
and just because we were together it would be okay.

I could have seen adventures in the woods
and long walks along the street
i could see us acting silly
and climbing random trees

I guess i could see too many possibilities.

If you are unspoken for
I will shout your name,
sweep both of our
feet away– taking
us further from our steps
that no longer ties us
to the ground.

I can not promise you
an eternity of sorts
nor a promise of a short-lived
book, for I can not grasp
when time will lay down its
veil and expire sweet whispers

that will definitely go
unheard – muted
away in silence.

Though fret not, for
that day still looms
around distant horizons
eager to catch us.

All we can do is make it
last– keep away from
the setting sun and
hide among the stars
we chase.

Someday my footsteps may only echo here like empty hallways in a house that was outgrown. Our relationship will age like old floor boards in the kitchen that has seen time betray love, and life, and something burning on the stove.
We were burning baby, but we never saw the flames, we were like old newspaper in the fireplace on a cold day, our fire kept us so blind, we didn’t realize the ashes we were becoming, we couldn’t feel the temperature until we were already rotting flesh, we loved dying carcasses but it didn’t matter because we were only 18 and unapologetic for not being able to be perfect, for not being able to stay clean and pure.

But thank god we were able to accept what we were not willing to change in the moment. You wondered when we would have a picture on my coffee table, and I wondered when you would stop telling me about the girls who also held your heart. And sometimes your thoughts consumed you and sometimes I regretted ever letting you consume me.

But here we are, picture framed, frozen on a wall thinking “wow, has time changed” from early spring when we awoke Like early April flowers and now beg for rain to Quench our thirst in August, praying we can make it through another season with bruised rib cages and thinking it is in our nature to be wandering souls like eve and an apple resisting a world full of sin.

Could the winter be too harsh for us