we were a force in your bedroom, all poetry and passion,
freckles flowering against wide plains of skin and heartbeats skipping like rocks across a river, mouths whispering secrets through the heated air
a tornado-dream in motion ripping through clothing thought
insecurities demands histories
and numerous pages of our favorite books.
the sheer power of us manifested as a storm outside your window
and it followed me on back country roads home
down my driveway, up my stairs
into my room--
lightning lashed out and held me tight like piano chords and the rain
hit like hammers, creating this beautiful melody
against my skin, wrapping me up in a lullaby
of desire and night and hymns like shredding silk just to destroy something
and refusing
to let me go.
you once told me, your voice sounds like a broken piece of jewelry
and it all did, too, in that moment.
i lay on top of my red silk sheets in the dark
watching lightning slice through night clouds,
cutting the sky open wide and exposing my flesh in quick flashes
when the thunder rolled through me
nearly knocking the breath out of my lungs.
it sounded so much, too much,
like your name.
i couldn't help but think of you, your batik hips, your
short dark-chocolate-raspberry curls, the full petals of your lips,
the broad (and now marked) expanse of dark skin
in between shoulderblades.
in the darkness of my room my
ribcage crashes under my skin like a wave,
undulating and wild,
and i remembered your hands following the sea patterns
your nails like cracked sea shells and abalone
against me, sharp but gentle
all at the same time.
another flash of light bounces off the silver in my nipples and my navel, illuminating
the scars and dips and muscles and bones and curves
that make me so much your world.
i smell like aphrodesia incense, perfume, rain,
and youyouyouyouyou.
i love myself when our senses intermingle and connect and i
am not thinking about the calories
i've consumed or the things i want to punish myself for or
the boys who have touched me,
pushed me, hit me, fucked me, hurt me
who seem to be on my mind and the tips of my tongue and fingers so often.
no they don't wrap around me in the lonely fist of my room.
i think about you
and i think about me,
and leave my past where it belongs-- on a different page of a book i refuse to shut altogether.
you're minutes and miles away and
i can still taste the salt of your skin and the
blood of your lips, your tongue
in my mouth.
the world is a little better now that i've got your exact coordinates tattooed on my insides
and the sound of your lips tasting my name playing on repeat in my head.
i close my eyes.
the earth keeps spinning, just a little faster all around me.
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