You’re fumbling, fingers slipping on the bottle cap,
and my heartbeat is stuttering in my chest like
you’ve asked it to recite all the things it’s ever thought
about you, but the steadiness of your eyes belies you.
Your gaze is somehow always on me when I’m not looking, 
like you’ve synchronized to the rhythm of my nervousness.
Outside, the sky is an infinite abyss that does not frighten me
but the constellations in your irises make me weak, leave me
trembling like I’m ready to fall apart, like my entire body
has changed frequency to get your attention.  I do not remember
the glass in my hand but I know your fingertips grazed my skin
and it still feels warm there, the echo of your touch a beacon
burning brighter than the sun - igniting on my guilt and your
goddamned gravity that draws me in no matter how many miles
or inches or months or excuses I throw between us.
We’ve stopped laughing, sticky glasses pinched in our fingers,
our breaths hovering between us. It burns going down
but everything does, in the end, and god, sometimes
I just wish you’d fucking kiss me already.

The End

7 comments about this poem Feed