deepundergroundpoetry.com

the perks of being a temporary fix.

This is you:
A poem that breathes
Of all the memories
I have let myself keep
Here is one.
We lie in my bed and
your arm is behind my neck
Wrapping around my back
And I feel the ridge of your
collarbone under my fingertips
I touch too softly
But I am terrified to let myself
Touch at all.
This is you:
I have spent months trying to describe
The exact texture of your eyes
And I have given up
There is a universe there
Chaotic storms unravelling
They are
Glinting grey
A smoking blue smudging
With each blink
They stare at my white ceiling
With its water stains
From that storm a while back
I see the underside of your eyelashes
Dark blonde, honey hair
Something
There are no definite lines to you
No sure colors or words
Your only lines are in your hands
Huge and encapsulating
Short nails and invisible scars
I am getting too soft
With the way you touch me.
This is you:
Straight nose, Cesarean
The tiny stubble you missed
On your neck
I should have kissed
Bowed lips a pastel curve
Acne scars and the crease
In your brow
I am
Entirely consumed.
I am enraptured in your
Neverland soul.