(no subject)
I wrote you poetry last night,
scratched my skin bloody
against the barbed-wire bedsheets, always too harsh
without your arms around me.
I wrote you poetry last night
and filled it with the sound of rain,
the empty echo of a lone heartbeat in a darkened room.
I wrote you poetry and shaped
each letter with knots of sinew and bone
as I contorted my body to fill the space in bed
(the space where you're not).
I wrote you poetry last night
and blessed it with a kiss, blasphemed it with a moan,
your name spilled from my mouth,
stained my lips like ink.
I wrote you poetry last night,
fell asleep dreaming
I'd wake up in your arms.
scratched my skin bloody
against the barbed-wire bedsheets, always too harsh
without your arms around me.
I wrote you poetry last night
and filled it with the sound of rain,
the empty echo of a lone heartbeat in a darkened room.
I wrote you poetry and shaped
each letter with knots of sinew and bone
as I contorted my body to fill the space in bed
(the space where you're not).
I wrote you poetry last night
and blessed it with a kiss, blasphemed it with a moan,
your name spilled from my mouth,
stained my lips like ink.
I wrote you poetry last night,
fell asleep dreaming
I'd wake up in your arms.
