that you are where my mind wanders, aimless and dusty
when I am folded empty-palmed and restless
in the middle seat of an airplane, when my only option
is to close my eyes and find myself, and you,
at the bar where we met
your eyes blue as ice and burning, me shifting my powdered knees,
swallowing lumps and laughter and the beer you liked
and then I am sweating three days later
blushing at you across picnic tables and looking for excuses
to walk over wooden benches and get next to you somehow
or curled up for four hours in your front seat
uncomfortable as hell and happy, or tangling our teeth together
one week after that, or stretched out glowing
on my carpet two nights ago
what if I told you
I am still listening to the song that sounds like your skin
letting it press down on my back and I am smiling
under the weight of this violet cloud we are creating,
full to bursting with rain and the scent of you
what if I told you I have been
collecting and quilting the bits of us that have blossomed so far
for moments like this, when I am motion-sick
with pinched eyes at high altitudes
waiting to come home again
to the ground, and to you
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