Discord and Harmony

I am a body made up of rhythm
turmoil
tightness
waiting to be danced upon
bandaged
and opened up.

You are a sliver of a man.

I need to stop waiting
for our blood to rush in time.
I need to stop caressing every single mark
you left upon my thighs
and remember that my chaos
was beautiful
was out of control
solely without your help.

I am a tornado,
so why did you try to sweep me up
knowing I would suck you right back in?

Tell me then,
that lullabies are just synonyms
put to melody
for the things we tell ourselves
when we are hoping for sleep.
For the nights our bones feel like
breaking 
for lack of others warmth;
we call this a 
“freeze”.

You said i had a chip on my shoulder;
if you were fire,
why haven’t I thawed by now?

Tell me of the music 
in my muscles,
that the symphonies I screamed
were always your favorite.
Remember how your fingers raced along my spine,
plucking between each vertebrae like harp
remember that I never missed my mark.

I was always meant to fill a part.

Tell me when the act
is over
where will our memory go?
Tell me that the quiet
won’t feel like opened wound,
that my mess will make up
hallelujah chorus,
you’ll pull out each Easter,
ready to be committed to something
that fills the void.
Religion wraps you up
when your bed turns cold.

Tell me
how you’ll fix
my mess;
mend each touch
that I left
each caress against your skin 
until it appears like braille;
the blind run their fingers down the length of you
and read love.
You called me natural disaster,
and walk home every night into a apartment
flooded over with the memory of “we”.

My body no longer makes melody.

You watch out your window
and notice how the rain makes streams.

Our blood rushes at memory,
and somewhere,
our veins glow;
our pulses 
finally in sync.

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