Our nervous hands stuttered over skin.
Like children bathing in neon puddles,
April nights warming over our nakedness.
Spur of the moment,
A warning not to kiss because that would be too far.
Maybe it started out in lust
But
By the end you'd stolen my heart.
And I have carried that exchange for over a thousand days
But it's time to lay the lights down low
And make peace with my ghosts.
For all the loves I have killed and sewn together
Following a snatched handful of blueprints
That I never was able to make breathe.
And in the end you are an epoch
And I am a name and a face,
Less than a song to you.
We've never even kissed;
I have thought every day about kissing you.
No comments:
Post a Comment