(no subject)
The worst things can happen at night:
Sleep might evade you and jealousy might bare its vicious teeth.
You will tremble in bed and conjure the worst scenarios or
your limbs might fall off and your eyes will turn to dust but, still, you are here.
Here and still and jolted (why am I still awake?) on your back, unsafely nestled in a hard warmth.
I wish you were here to say things to me but let them only be truths comforts and things about love.
And what I realize, now, lying alone, is that I love your dirtiness and how you keep me waiting
How you’re brash and abrupt and often fidgety when you sit
or when you listen to music
And I’m relentless but you take it
And how you can be deep inside a silence and it bows to you; you are the king of silence
and
as much as I try to cram my tiny words into it, jumbled, meaningless,
you continue to sit and you let them seep into you and you keep your silence.
And I love your mess and fucked up hair and how we take things and run with them
Throw them out to sea, and I’ll point at a place so far away and tell you to go there (no, stay with me!)
all these things I hate I hate I hate, I love and I hate how I love them.
So here, in the kitchen, we are making dinner and you are so near;
warm, breathing, blood-flowing, pulse-sprinting, my talking, my living, thing
you are
all these things to me I cannot list but you are everywhere and everything and even so, I am scared to touch you.
but you’ve touched me millions of times before and more and more than this.
We’ve hung all over each other for hours without these walls.
Newer to me, you are, though we haven’t started over and now we carry this weight
And I am wrong for you gone for you but I belong to you
Sleep might evade you and jealousy might bare its vicious teeth.
You will tremble in bed and conjure the worst scenarios or
your limbs might fall off and your eyes will turn to dust but, still, you are here.
Here and still and jolted (why am I still awake?) on your back, unsafely nestled in a hard warmth.
I wish you were here to say things to me but let them only be truths comforts and things about love.
And what I realize, now, lying alone, is that I love your dirtiness and how you keep me waiting
How you’re brash and abrupt and often fidgety when you sit
or when you listen to music
And I’m relentless but you take it
And how you can be deep inside a silence and it bows to you; you are the king of silence
and
as much as I try to cram my tiny words into it, jumbled, meaningless,
you continue to sit and you let them seep into you and you keep your silence.
And I love your mess and fucked up hair and how we take things and run with them
Throw them out to sea, and I’ll point at a place so far away and tell you to go there (no, stay with me!)
all these things I hate I hate I hate, I love and I hate how I love them.
So here, in the kitchen, we are making dinner and you are so near;
warm, breathing, blood-flowing, pulse-sprinting, my talking, my living, thing
you are
all these things to me I cannot list but you are everywhere and everything and even so, I am scared to touch you.
but you’ve touched me millions of times before and more and more than this.
We’ve hung all over each other for hours without these walls.
Newer to me, you are, though we haven’t started over and now we carry this weight
And I am wrong for you gone for you but I belong to you