These days I find it hard
To drift to sleep without you
My back has grown accustomed to your heat
My neck, to the feeling of your breath
My hands know intimately the beating in your chest
And the way your fingers tangle into mine
The ache of longing is what keeps me from sleep,
Tossing and turning to attune myself
To a body that’s miles from my own.
Instead of drum beats inside my chest
It’s the gentle feeling of
– Oh. There you are.
I am soft when gazing at you
With the familiarity I have yet to gain
But when you smile at me like that
I think you could love me
– It’s almost like you already do
I hope I come to you at 3am
In the moments where you can’t sleep,
Tossing, turning, tangled in linen
Restless
Just the way you leave me
My 3m thoughts of you
Find me for a few quiet moments
In love with the sheets against my back,
The air upon my skin; bare, fond and forgiving
I can feel the deep and gentle pulse of you
Washing through me
In spite of your absence.
You made me cookies with hershey’s kisses
(The little marshmallows are your favorite)
When all I wanted was the sweet taste of your lips
Words sinful like the darkest cacao
Your voice a delicacy
I want all to myself.
Instead I smiled and thanked you,
Told you “no one’s ever made me cookies before”
When no one cared enough to take the time
To be as sweet as you are naturally, with ease
The excited way you splayed them out for me,
Your work of art,
“made with love”
1 tsp of vanilla (a surprise to you)
My indulgence in you is becoming unhealthy
Like too many cookies,
And yet I’ll still take every bit of sweetness you offer
Gorging myself on you because I’ll never have my fill.
I wish I was the kind of girl to wear dresses
Busts of lace and skirts of tulle
Spinning, twirling,
Never ending circles of beautiful patterns
Adorning my body like I was something delicate
And pretty.
But instead I am scraps of wool
And new leather with the bloody muscle intact
Scratchy, hot,
Suffocating the skin beneath snares of thread
Corsets made to break ribs and crush the lungs
For beauty.
Perhaps I’m desirable on the outside
To those who search for comfort, not beauty
But once they look beneath my textile facade
All they see is a thousand shards of glass,
The remains of broken mirrors that housed
Reflections of me.
You make me want to be soft,
Drape you in the gossamer silk of skin
Touching you with nothing but the gentle caress of tenderness,
Whispers across your cheeks from my eyelashes and lips
Sparks beneath my fingertips to warm you
In return for the quiet you give me,
The stillness of early mornings
Waiting with baited breath for you to rise like the sun
While I gaze at your sleeping face
Which inspires the tenderness I can only wish to emulate.
The first time I saw you,
The sudden barrage of images,
Flashes of the future
Of morning spent in rumpled sheets and sunlight,
Tender kisses on my brow,
Laughter bubbling from your smiling face
How you’d kiss me just to do so
It took me by surprise
– this longing
and I no longer know what to do
When my chest isn’t combusting,
And my cheeks aren’t inflamed
When every waking thought isn’t consumed by you.
It feels wrong to mourn a love never spoken out loud
Or it could be that it was never love,
But it wasn’t nothing either.
*
Perhaps it was only stolen glances and too much laughter,
Softly saying your name like a prayer
Holding my breath until your eyes met mine.
*
Maybe it was just the casual brush of fingers,
How I couldn’t help but stutter when we spoke,
And the softness in your face when you looked at me.
*
I know it wasn’t love, but maybe
In another time, another place, another dimension,
It could have been.
I want to meet you in dark corners,
Your spit on my mouth
Shivers down my spine
Leave me vulnerable
And wanting.
I want handprints on my thighs,
Your marks on my neck
Bruises on my hips
Leave me raw
And aching.
I want you pounding in my veins,
Your hands on my throat
Gasping your name
Leave me powerless
And owned.
I was meant to lie between the power of your thighs;
Voice silenced, lips spread,
Face spit-wet
To feel the quiver underneath your skin,
As your white ribbons fall on my cheek
Like a baptismal
Your body is something to be worshiped
It is a self-indulgent act,
A sin I gladly confess to any man who has yet to see
Heaven
the Honest Poet