Caught on the exhale, hungry heart and empty lungs, lips tangled together you filled me with air
These walls are high but poorly built. The right brick crumbling sends it tumbling.
You dropped out of a tree into my path, a shiny acorn, and I, not yet a sapling. How could I have known then how our branches were destined to grow together?
like the howling ache of the last bite, yearning, your pillow–cold– my fingers sweep for crumbs of you between my sheets.
They say if you have trouble sleeping it’s because someone’s thinking of you. I’m sorry for those restless nights.
and I lean back a little, slowing the pace of my speech. Because its hot in here– with the radiator and my cable-knit sweater and the words left unsaid in the spaces between.
it’s not the weight of your body that pins me to earth it’s the beat of your heart i count my breaths by
I didn’t care much for the sunset, right here, in the old churchyard with plums rotting at our feet. The pregnant trees bowed to us, sticky, alcoholic; a drunken, golden nest. Right here, perched on the edge of it all, I saw my life unfurled deliciously through the haze of that sweet summer syrup– the electricity of you–so alive, so green, your every heartbeat breathed me into […]