I hover over this keyboard as tears begin to fill the brim of my eyes. I place a palm to my chest, feeling the boulders and chains shiver in the pain, shackled by the sincerity beneath my bones.
“I love it when…”
The sun had peeked its way through the window of the room, shining amongst white blinds and open doorways, seeking to embrace two gracious souls intertwined by God. As he thought and spoke in words of woe, I absorbed the sight of him before me, watching the sun reflect rays within his gold amber eyes. I took in his soft brown skin against my own, the gentle touch of his hands within mine. I admired the pink tint etched within his lips, the moles and freckles on his temples, the long lashes above his irises. I imagined what it would be like to kiss away his wounds and conflictions, to make light of my silent broken heart sculpted by another under a gruelled sea. I imagined what it would be like to shatter each stone within my flesh, to let him wrap his delicate arms around the chambers and embrace a child’s cry.
I hope he knows poets never neglect the ones who made them sing, the ones we wished we’d met before the war corrupted our blood, before we were beaten on the edge of the cliff left to bleed. I hope he knows I see him for his kindness and willingness to love, that I see him for the admiration of bodies; for the flaws and folds we’ve fought to adore, for his power in affection and consistency in precision, for who he is and who he hopes to be.
“I love it when…”
Memories began to flash before me as his eyes softened into mine. I could still feel his warm fingers clasping a necklace behind my neck. I could still feel the heat of his wet body against my own, the shower splashing against our skins as our breaths drowned out the voices in our heads. I could still see his crooked smile while he sucks and licks the inner parts of my thighs, swallowing my soaked rose petals in full bloom. I could still hear his laughter in the twilight to an absurd joke I made and his whispers of saints and sins against my earlobe. I could still taste his sweet tongue on my lips, the swirls and caresses of the muscle seeking beauty and solace within.
He had looked away in an attempt to conceal. But I could see our flashbacks flicker along his countenance, the sadness displacing the crevices in his brow.
“I love it when…”
What we’ve created was beautiful, you see. What we’ve experienced was divine, crafted by the stars and designed by the universe, devised and opened by Him alone. I smoothed the back of his neck, dragging my fingertips along his skin. We needed to be in each other’s lives during these moments in time, I thought to myself. I needed you to show me what love could look like if chosen well. I’m just not ready to–
“I love it when…”
I hope he knows poets will never forget who gave life to the dead. His words and gestures, his voice and smile, his laughter and devotion, will forever be written beneath the crisp edges of the page. Every curve of the ink, every typed letter on the screen, every phrase, and vowels drawn will be quietly laced with his name across the spine. Only he can see the movement of his tongue within the lines of the poem. Only he can hear his momentous moans within the plot of the prose.
“I love it when…”
I place my palm against my chest once again as tears dry my cheeks. I breathe to the slow rhythm of my pulse now, taking deep breaths to calm my trembling bones; the shackles loosely detached and rested.
The thought of him reading what he’s carved into this screen, the thought of him listening to the cadence of my words, commending the design and tempo of its tones…
Remember I told you.
“I love it when you cross my mind.”
