No Promises

my bone-white fingers grasp at memories like straws

the little flecks of you that were left inside my skin

and doubts are cropping up between my smiling teeth 

like buzzards in suburban yards. I wonder what has died

to bring them here, or whether birds of prey are just bad omens

because someone told me once that I would endure

a hell of a lot more heartbreak before I found something

worth keeping in my ribs, and I must admit I am exhausted

already. so I have only written half a poem for you so far, because
I am tired of exploding like atom bombs in my lovers’ skies. trust me
when I say that when I fall for you, I will not land on velvet pillows
it will be violent and harsh and bones will break, and if you try to catch me
before I hit the ground I will only hurt you more. my knees are weak
and weary of carrying too much worry in my hips, and when I ask you
to love me you should know that I am twisting like jungle branches as I say it
my skin is tight with fear like saltwater in a balloon and there are
so many serpents underneath my tongue that kissing me
is a dangerous thing to do. part of me wants you to save yourself
the trouble and part of me wants you to stay, but most of me knows
that I am conjuring this all out of smoke and you were never in my arms
to begin with, except for one night. in all likelihood, it is the only night
we will have. we made no promises to each other. but it was a warm night
and I slept well, and your hand in the crook of my waist as we took turns breathing
felt like a secret I’d been waiting to share. I expect we’ll move forward
and I’ll blush if you ask me whether this poem is about you, and you will find
a mouth without serpents in it, and I will find someone else to fall apart with

but I imagine I’ll remember how, for a while, our smiles fit together pretty well.