This is love
I had to stop painting my piano fingers
next day they’d be stained acrylic, ink
with clear nails I sit
comforted by clickclickclick
of your keys: I think too loud to type
moonchild— I’m supposed to be:
streaked with lightning,
sheltered by the bus stop
stained spring days
lips wet and a plethora of me too’s
I hate the cold, you say. I, much less.
but fuzzy with good company
questioning death, candle scents, and what a kiss is
inside me and you
is such a flame, the breeze can’t cut me
I like being on buses with you,
when you slip into sleep the sky slips by
the sun reads my scribbled rhymes
your blond lashes bathed in light
we arrive, only bathed in light
I can’t sleep in a big bed
homesick for a home that is not a place
your voice over static
my mouth bittersweet
I prefer the single bed in your old room
there is a to-be-broken ashtray on our shelf
half a piece for you and me
every time we make eye contact
wait a bit more I say
You will never break it.
our fairy lights flicker with fatigue
in our third apartment
Next time we should get a house
I don’t believe you until I see your eyes
Maybe get a cat too, Kitten?
you mock me for liking lollipops
but you would buy me a boxful if I ran out.
everythingoes and comes back
I hate our waiting game
I yearn for the taste of the ocean.