(no subject)
What used to define beauty for me is now all contained into those treasured eyes.
Such precious eyes to go with even more precious lies.
So precious I'd lock them in a crystal clear snowglobe and watch them spiral into waves of tiny white plastic snowflakes if only he'd let me to.
Over the summer, I had turned myself into a mess.
Awaking on bathroom floors to the rhythm of the rain on the stained glass was now part of my daily routine.
"What you don't love, it's easy to leave," my grandmother once said.
&so did I, time after time.
A typewriter in a crowded bus that leaded me to a city where I was nowhere to be found.
A bra under a twin-sized bed, a blood stain you simply can't get rid of no matter how hard you try to wash it away.
I had left myself in so many places, tuck remnants in kisses or saliva that never dries up.
&in the process of becoming a woman, I lost sight of my own peace of mind.
But then autumn came, I met him all over again, &he brang it back to me with a double cheeseburger, french fries and a small iced-tea.
Just when I least expected it.
I fell in love every night for a week with that one little piece of sailor that made me rebel against my horoscope, &that daily stirs me around like the alcohol we pour in our coffee when morning comes far too soon.
He has been stealing all of my nights away for the past three months and he's worth wasting all of my 11:11 wishes on.
He makes me want to jump out of my skin so I can sink through him, &I don't even feel the need to fight it.
I've given in in all ways possible, gotten my skeleton off my chest &put my heart at rest on the table as if he asked me to.
Tracing I love you's on eachother's body doesn't require the use of any of my organs other than my brain so I can spell those three words out correctly, &my ribcage still won't cave in.
He takes me to that place at night where I'm forever king when this house is no longer a home but a worn out bed.
His words, like second-hand smoke, they sometimes made me sick but they keep me warm, always.
When clocks always tick constant midnight, he makes all of my cells tap their feet to the beat of his ballads so I don't have to sleep.
I play connect the dots with his moles &draw constalletions out of them, so you can't tell me I love him wrong.
I love him in his entirety, from his red beard to the smell of his sweat when we unwind after sex.
Every breath I take leads me closer to crawling back into his bed so I can love him in all different manners &cook him pancakes when we wake up at 2pm.
We are worlds appart, he has such a bad temper &a terrible breath in the morning, yet he is the only man I want to wake up to.