Steady.

I’m waiting for the kisses
where my spine breaks;

we are a different type of 
“weeping and gnashing of teeth”:
heaven and hell meet
and I can’t tell which tastes sweeter coming from your lips.

I’m waiting for the kisses
where your absence leaves a dull ache;

my body is a highway
and there is blood rushing through its lines:
my thighs are willing to be both
entrance and off ramps.

I’m waiting for the kisses
where I don’t feel like Miss—-
Take.

You hold my heart in your hands,
not shattered pane,
but paperweight:
I anchor you
when the wind tries to whisk you away.

I am your static,
and you are my earthquake.

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