You leave nothing but bees in my stomach,
but here’s the twist:
this time it doesn’t sting. .
They make honeycombs of my
veins
and house their queen
in the chambers of my heart.
Every time my skin breaks,
honey spills.
How wonderful it is;
how lovely to
know that even without you,
I am still
so sickeningly
sweet.
Make them take their time.
Watch them form each letter.
See it turn the breeze to spun sugar.
You are not a rushed breath;
you are something to savor.
A boy
I have not spoken to
in three years
apologizes;
pulls me aside to tell me
I deserve better.
My sister calls this
an act of God,
that sometimes someone has to speak
the truth because I know it,
but don’t believe it myself.
But this time,
I agree with her.
Think it’s funny
how someone who used to beg me
for things below the belt,
doesn’t know how he’s interceding
for the Holiest of holies.
Want to tell him,
I see it, too,
how God’s purposely
protecting me.
Want to apologize
for clearing out my backseat.
Want to cry out
the cliched “hallelujah”;
shed tears on the drive home,
and thank Him for his mercy.
Praise Him
that it’s been over a month
and these lips have been
consistently denied the opportunity
to learn the contours of
another no-good-for-me
some body.
Tell her:
I will hold you
until the sun falls out of the sky.
I know your soul
is only comfortable
in the darkness and I am
okay with perpetual night.
I will love you
even if we don’t make light.
I will love you
even if I can’t see the sparks
fly.
I will love you
in the endless blackness
that I’m willing to risk
for just a moment
where your life and mine
combine.
I will love you
openly,
even if it means I can only parade you
under moon shine.
It is the way
you kissed my palms
like they had been holding
all of your oxygen
for the last two months;
pulling up the hem of my T-shirt
and reminding my stomach
with your mouth
how worthy it is
of worship,
of mercy.
You will never be
a new religion to me:
but rather a louder way to love.
You will be my reminder
of daily grace.
Because as your lips met my skin,
my eyes were wrinkling themselves
into two old maids
laughing in rockers
on the front porch of
their country house in the summer.
Two windows
squinted like they were staring
at the sun.,
not caring if they were blinded
in happiness.
Like love never left;
like the splinters of hurt and
regret remained in my heart
only so
when the time was right,
I could re-make them into a door jam.
It’s like saying your name,
missing how much
my lips
pursed at the “shh”,
and now, not wanting
to be quiet
about this.
“In seven years,
you will not exist on my body.
Bless this reptilian skin.
Bless each ash stuck
to the feathers of this woman.
I will not slander your name,
but in seven years time
someone will shake me
out
of the phrases
you caged me in.
In seven years time,
I will have said my own name
so many times,
that I won’t remember the way
your mouth formed around it.
In seven years time,
I will forgive my nakedness.
In seven years time,
the only thing worthy
of being near my lips
will be Chapstick.
In seven years time,
you will no longer
linger
on this skin.
In seven years time,
through God’s grace,
I will be my own
linchpin.”
I’m ready for the thunder,
now.
I learned that there can be beauty
in the quaking of the earth;
just because the sky trembles
doesn’t mean it will fall down.
And if it did,
our bones would be crushed
into fairy dust
and whoever survived would build from a world
coated in magic.
Maybe there’d be peace then.
Maybe some things would make more sense like:
driving home I saw a car
missing one headlight,
completely smashed out of socket
on the drivers side,
save for a bulb.
This bulb that was on
and shining with all its might.
Wherever they were going,
they still had light.
When the sky cracks in half,
I realize now stitching can also
come in streaks that terrify.
I am no longer a child,
hiding under covers
when the rain comes down.
I’m the windshield wiper
on a car sans one headlight,
swishing water out of line of sight.
Helping driver get to destination,
marveling at the shaking
waiting for the comet tail of lightning,
and trailing the wings of the faeries,
shaking off dust as they fly by.
To have head
tucked into crook of your collarbone,
my nose pressed to your neck,
to nestle in,
to be held close—
again.
To hear:
‘I love you’,
once more.
To wait
until the next time.
To trust
this one won’t end.
I fall in love at twilight.
Broad statement.
Revision:
I fall in love with the way
your voice sometimes
lives in the place between awake
and dreaming,
where you talk to me
in an octave far more hushed
than normal,
where your head meets
my shoulder.
It’s like a fogged glass
memory of September,
my fingers running over your hair,
“Drive” playing off the radio;
your cheek pressed to the lining of my jacket,
body shifted from driver’s seat to
lap of passenger,
to a girl who believes for a few moments,
a half hour,
she will be all you need.
Lack-luster friend,
semblance of rest.
When you wake,
you tend to hold people a little tighter.
Your hand brushes theirs in a dimly lit bar
and for once, you eat a whole dinner.
I fall in love with the way
the rain raced down your windows,
“I Will Possess Your Heart” on the radio,
singing softly to your somnia.
Waiting for your voice to fill with sleep,
for your eyes to lift up and meet
mine,
to hear your voice clogged with something
other than a lonely girl’s dream:
to watch your tongue fold over itself with silence,
to watch you break the planes of slumber.
Listening still,
after all this time.
Holding out
for a whisper.
Writer.Reader.Thinker.Dreamer. 