We do not fitthe way bodies are supposed to fit.We are not neat.Not tidy.Not the kind of lovethat fits in greeting cards.We are messy.We are hungry.We are the kind of wantthat leaves marks.I have bitten youand been sorryand done it againbecause the sound you madewas worth the guilt.I have held yo...
Read MoreI keep a map of youon the inside of my skin.Here,the curve of my neckwhere your mouth first landedand I understoodwhat hunger meant.Here,my wristwhere your thumb pressedcounting my pulselike you were memorisingthe rhythm of me.Here,my hipwhere your fingers dug inwhen you lost yourselfinside meand...
Read MoreI have been trying to write this poemfor as long as I've known you.Every word feels too small.Every line feels like a lie.But here is the truth:When I say I want you,I mean I want the weight of youpressing me into the mattress.I mean I want the sound you makewhen I find the exact right place....
Read MoreI spent years learning to be alone.Built walls out of goodbyes.Learned the architecture of leavingbefore anyone could leave me first.Then you arrivedand everything I knewbecame useless.Your hands are undoers.They unbutton my defencesunlace my fearsunmake the careful personI spent decades becoming...
Read MoreThere is a mathematics to the wayyou fit against me,the curve of your shoulderfinding the hollow of my chest,the angle of your hipsolving for the space between my thighs.We are a theoremI want to proveagain and again.I have counted the freckles on your backlike constellations.I have traced the li...
Read MoreI have learned you the way hands learn clayfirst hesitant, then certain,then unable to forget.Your throat remembers the shape of my mouth.Your wrists remember the weight of my grip.Your hips remember a rhythmthat has no name in any languageexcept ours.I have watched you sleepand counted the ways ...
Read MoreThey live in the drawer beside my bed,a cabinet of curiosities,each one a promise in silicone and steel,a key to doors I didn't know I had.You gave me the first one, remember?A small thing, unassuming,wrapped in tissue paper like a giftfrom a Victorian gentleman caller."You should know y...
Read MoreListen, lover. Forget the crypts, the creaking doors,the capes that billow like a stagehand’s cheap effect.Our darkness is a finer thing, a vintage pouredfrom older casks. It’s in the intellect we’ve kept,the taste for beauty that the hurried sun forgets.We are the patrons of th...
Read MoreThe night was not silk, but ordinary cotton—A twin-size sheet, the faint smell of rain,A dorm-room lamp with a crooked switchDimming the world to just our skin.You were not a god, but a boyWith a nervous laugh caught in your throat,And I was not a poem, but a girlFumbling with the algebra o...
Read MoreThe air is thick with unspent rain,the scent of skin, a sweet, slow stain.A silent pact the night has made,beneath the weight of light betrayed.Your gaze, a question, finds my own,a territory not yet known.A fingertip, a trace, a line,from wrist to elbow, slow design.A map of heat, a whispered pl...
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