lust is not love, he says.
but how do i know you want me
if your hand isn't around my neck?
my mouth against his , misplaced with golden cloud kisses
and i think maybe this is purity.
that this is what my ma talked about when she said,
love is not mystery or intruige.
it's not waiting on the next call with cuticles in my teeth
and my head spinning out
at the thought of
car clocks shattering/penny knuckles/
waiting on the ambulance once again
what is love if it is not killing me?
he says he's different, something untold
something whispered;
tells me i bring him ease,
like he knows how to just sit and be.
and i feel like a child,
sun sold eyes looking up as if he is everything.
like it was never an afterthought; i am the one he wants.
he promises me eternity and i don't know what to do with that. my hands are shaking. how do i get
through this week?
sweet nothings always stick to my teeth
in a dropped out scream. i ruin everything.
but, i will sort through the fear if it
means he will stay with me.
