Tonight she left her sweater in the back seat of my car
Like she knew she would be back
Along with her 3am texts and, her ginger hair
She talks to me when she's not around
Look directly into my eyes until my heart stops
And melts into her hands like a weak egg yolk,
Waiting to fall into the mixing bowl with the other pieces of me
I wait for her name to pop up on my phone
A symbol to light up me and my life
She will kiss me in front of her
So deep it could cut straight to the bone
When I leave I wonder if my body leaves an outline on her bed
A piece of me in her sheets, my scent lingering long after I'm gone
I know she'll call me, twenty minutes before midnight
Wanting to go out for a drive
End up listening to the best indie music
Through the aux
I let the tidal wave of her stare wash over me
until my hair is soaked
and she wants to comb out the sadness with his fingers
I let her
YOU ARE READING
gas station flowers
Poesíacoming of age poetry by a queer young adult writer. navigating relationships and the coming out process. peak inside the mind of a young woman with a mental illness.
