It was a colder night, but our
wishbone necks held together
against the pull. And our trembling
fingertips built a home in each other’s
stomachs with tools no one taught us
how to use throughout school. Like
how to not resist ache, like
understanding how bruised ribs can
still be sore from wars fought inside of
another that we can’t control. And yearning.
Like how all I want to do is untangle each
knot inside your spine and curve you into me
until morning’s light. Like insistence. And
grit. Like how I will hold you, even if my
hands shake. How I will hold you, especially
if my hands shake. Because on the coldest
night, across oceans,
and atop fault lines:
I will love you still.
When you were sleeping on the sofa
I put my ear to your ear and listened
to the echo of your dreams.
That is the ocean I want to dive in,
merge with the bright fish,
plankton and pirate ships.
I walk up to people on the street that kind of look like you
and ask them the questions I would ask you.
Can we sit on a rooftop and watch stars dissolve into smoke
rising from a chimney?
Can I swing like Tarzan in the jungle of your breathing?
I don’t wish I was in your arms,
I just wish I was peddling a bicycle
toward your arms.
Never apologize for how you feel. No one can control how they feel. The sun doesn’t apologize for being the sun. The rain doesn’t say sorry for falling. Feelings just are.