You are not the moon in all of its infinite beauty and wisdom. You do not light up the evening sky with the silky blue light that filters down through the citrus-scented leaves, oil-black in the darkness. You are not the beautiful crescent smile of the universe.
You are not the moon in all of its infinite beauty and wisdom.
So why do I continue to compare you to perfection?
You lent me your coat so I wouldn’t catch cold,
but instead I caught fire.
The kindling of your remaining warmth
was enough to ignite the flames
that I have been so kind as to ignore.
So please, take back your coat,
I won’t catch cold.
I hate the sultry way she says your name,
the connotations of what she wishes to do to you,
and what she will do to you.
I hate the way her eyes travel along the lines of your body,
the same way that mine eyes so often do.
Those same lines that I’ve so gently caressed
in the past.
I hate the way her perfect hips and perfect lips,
and perfect tits are everything I’ll never be.
And that tonight,
you’re all hers.
Tomorrow is a new day, so can tonight last forever?
Is that too much to ask?
A moment to fall into each other forever, a
New way to love. The
Day may creep in on us, but we
Can fight it, tomorrow,
Tonight, and forever. We can
Last night was an eternity without your touch, please can we last
Forever?
It is a tenuous bond between us. A breath of wind and little more than a shift in time is enough to shatter that bond. We can pick through every detail of what we have with a fine-toothed comb and I will still come up with
nothing.
There was a time when things were
quiet,
predictable,
soft,
and intact.
That was a long time ago.
Things kept together,
we kept together.
But now nothing makes sense.
Quiet words spill from parted lips,
thoughts overcome the silence,
and nothing makes sense.
Smile for me, please. Don’t smile at me, but smile for me. Show me your beauty and give to me all of those tiny secrets that you save just for moments like this. Moments when we are wrapped around the silence, moments when we smell of hope and the future, and moments when nothing else exists, save for what we need the most.
And after the chills have fled,
and your presence has faded,
I will still be here grasping for anything that I have left
of you.
How odd, to be looking for something
that was never mine.
You had me convinced, my darling,
that I was something more than
your exhale when I wanted to be your breath,
and
the smoke when I wanted to be the flame.
Can we be little more than fragments
in each others’ lives,
shreds of paper and a few plastic bags
floating by in passing?
Can we be more than this?
Is it probable,
or even possible,
that we could be more than just
in mere existence with each other,
but the pure existence of one another?
I can’t sleep in your empty bed. I can dance all I want through your empty sheets in a vain attempt to find a position that is a compromise between my need for your presence and the curious lack of it.
No luck. Every inch of space that you do not occupy is a singular reminder of where you’re not. The sheets are cold, the mattress is hard, the windows are open, the faucet keeps dripping, and I keep checking to see if you’re here.
Maybe next time.
“Good night,” I whisper all the same. “I love you.”
