the forms of all my lovers : poetry

august

god his tender sighs
slowed the rate of my
breathing into a
whirlwind of bliss

oh his petal soft voice
spun the speed of my
heart rate into a
mess of old drums and beats
i could never make sense of

and when he held me there
just in that moment
just in that second
i could breathe

if i could write about that feeling
all of my words would become poetry
a song
all of my words
would become him

but there are no words
for him
only feelings

maybe i'm weak
maybe i can't write after all.