i want to make love
in the deepest parts of the night
and wake up with the sun
peering through the blinds,
bathing us in the low
buzz and hum
of its pre-storm pearlescent glow.
touch my fingertips to your lips
and trade pieces of poetry like vows,
hushed and full and spilling over.
spend the day curled up -
watching old movies and swapping
souls like puzzle pieces,
fitting them close, nestled in
against the pouring rain and
the erratic thunder of our hearts.
revell in the way you roll through me
like a soft spring breeze, stirring up
old habits and secrets like pollen.
we can drink wine, slosh it from the glass
and let it stain my old tshirts,
for the sake of the laughter that echoes
from between your teeth to settle
into the walls, to sing me to sleep
when you're not home.
trace my name onto your skin,
feel you fill the dips and gorges
of my body with your sigh.
this is the only way
i want to feel alive.
there's no need for static -
no energy that propells me
ever forward, out of your arms.
no. i like it quiet.
we'll carefully form the syllables
that make up what you mean to me
and toss them from the fire-escape
because words are just words and this -
what boils and snaps and sparks and thumps
between us - is not for words.