You let yourself unravel every word of each piece of your composition, willingly, beggingly. He raps his fingers down each crescent fall of your vertebra, and every time you look at him, hes a different expression of what you imagined loving, when you were little and brave. His eyes are the color that you saw one time, on acid, when you were fifteen, that you always told your friends about but even you didn't believe after a while. He can pierce you, with anything. With small kisses that float under your eye lids, with a handful of seaweed stuck between his teeth, with the sound of nothing leaving his porcelain lungs. You feel him in this world, you felt him before you knew him. You felt him in your city, you felt him at your door, you felt his electricity shut your mouth and slide down your throat and make love to all the stupid things you were going to say.
You beckoned him, a long time ago. While other lovers taught you what to hate. When you wished into your stuffed bears, into the leaves in the gutter, into tiny shirt, into bags of wine, into the abyss of a muddy lagoon. In your prayers of becoming a witch, into your prayers of not dying today.
When he first took your hand, did it almost fall off. Did you forget all the things you hated. Did you watch yourself run into a fairy colored sunset leveraged by all you've let go of. As you begin to tangle your bodies, you begin to remember him. From along time ago, in the snow or in the desert. One time when you and him were kings and queens of a time and a place no body cared no body cared about...
He asks to speak to the young lady that breaks in you, he braids her hair in round plaited knots. He asks to speak to the child that cries in you, he washes her feet with mud and feeds her handfuls of persimmons.
His mouth shapes around the curve of your tiny shoulders. He tastes the salt of the ocean from behind your ears. He mixes his hair with your until you imagine what your babies eyes will look like, He smells like the earth under a sweat lodge, like the mud soaked in a mans fight for freedom, fight for love..
You hold his hand, as he holds you, and you begin to sway slowly, drunkenly into a tender cave that
cast shadows of the reckless before, a floor covered in peddles of the most beautiful flowers that have ever been.
