I have spiratic affairs with language,
you try to hide behind your humor,
we can be so loud and tiring
but really I'd rather just lie in silence with you
holding eachother so tightly we start to bruise
and
so warm.
Afterwards
I'll be afraid you'll leave,
so I'll go first,
wrapping our sheets around me like a satin cloak as I dissapear
into the wet night outside, bare feet slapping on glistening tar as I run away
before you wake up.
Maybe I'll stop under the yellowish beams of a streetlight
and let it play over my eyelashes and the hallows of my cheeks
along with the blues and grays and reds of the city
so even if you can't see it-
I'll be beautiful.
