bring me to the version of events where your fingers know the groves in the crook of my hip. I know you sit in your room overthinking a thousand thoughts, nine hundred and ninety-nine of which I don't know, but exactly one that I'm watching you from in the corner of your eyes. The itch in your wrist, a hesitation that could come from a dozen different diagnoses, but which I'm only testing for one: that you want me as bad as I want you, so bad it's not a want, it's a disgusting little desire to be loved.
bring me to the inside joke's fifth repetition, the inside joke I already know before it's been properly hatched: that I'm a hypocrite. For our first words to be, don't date someone here, and for our next to be I'm here. Date me. Call me clairvoyant for knowing this future: if you want me, this is all ripe for the taking. If you want me you have me.
bring me to the time when all others are fleeting anecdotes, where I no longer talk of the inconvenient imbalance in skill and attraction, where you have shattered all expectation, all preconception. You remind me a lot of every person I have ever loved, as if each of them carried one trait of you, as if each of them were a promise of what was to come. As if they knew, as if you knew, exactly who I was and what I'd be.
bring me to the time where I talk about you and your name is as loved as mine. A thousand futures exist, all ephemeral and shimmering and disappearing when touched, but I like a few a lot. I like the few where you sleep in my bed, where you can be safe in my head. I like the dreams where you and I seem as perfect as my wildest fantasies.
bring me to the future I promised you. Potential fulfilled, choices made, standing in light and in hope. Knowledge and love and change and dreams and everything perfect you love. I can see it, too, I want to believe that life is more than just dice. I want to believe at the end of the tunnel is that promised light.
bring me four weeks in the future. Bring me to when summer ends. Bring me to when we can sit on the grass and I can hold your hand.
bring me to your future. Mix it with mine.
bring us together.
that's all that I want.
YOU ARE READING
Assorted Poetry
PuisiI had a vent account on Poetizer, but it went paid, so I had to save the poems here. They're not particularly effortful, just vomited prose, but I had nothing else to do with them. They may be added to, or not. Largely not too graphic, but there is...
