Honeycomb

If I could live one day,
free of tattered conciousness,
the hum of life's passerby.
I would spend it with,

you.

How do you melt smiles in the
curves of your face?
You've formed a reality in
the dimple in your chin,
played it out between sparse stubble.
I could live there.

Is some of it for me?

I remember them sometimes.
How it was all a lie, how I thought
that I could ask for equality,
but got traded bruises
and a label of a whore.
I remember it all,
but then there's

you.

You reach to carasses my face,
smooth away the scars that
will never reach the surface,
hug me twice as hard
to remind me that I am
welcome to fill that space,
and tell me those three syllables, three
words, and mean it.

Time is a what if that is honeycombed
by retrospect. But with

you,

I have the foresight to know I
will still be home in those arms.