S.G.

It was the way you always tasted like pheromones and cinnamon
that made me want to rip the poison from my veins and keep it filled
for the rest of time
         with pitted cherries and
sobered blood

It was the way you made me feel beautiful
                                  even if you only ever said it twice
that kept me yearning for the ocean in your eyes and so willing-
to meet my own demise in them

Sometimes I still can’t believe all the chamomile tea we drank
slipping through your teeth like easy lies
and mine, lurching and gagged
                 like the lump in my throat when you don’t call me back

It was the way you held me so tightly while I kicked the sheets in frustration at my own inadequacy
that made me believe for a moment that maybe
                                        I could really breathe next to you

It was sun in the sky that matched my light inside at the sound of your laughter,
your sigh at the sound of my tears
And the way you lulled me to sleep as if you couldn’t dream
         unless I was too
that made me want so badly to believe the love I felt was more
than just a glitch in my perception

now it’s the stifling silence
          the bitterness of my fourth cup of tea
and the tightly wound twin coils that have replaced my legs
that assures me you have simply forgotten
            to wash your hands after taking out the trash

Now it’s the ancient rush that was my escape for so long
      before you came and tried to teach me how to swim
that leaves me unable to breath, kicking for air
drowning in a sea that is so much more hostile
        than your eyes ever could be