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There is a keenness to the memories I have. Trembling before you even touched me, pinned butterfly wings in the searing heat of your gaze. Eyes like knives and swords and blades I ran headlong towards you, convinced the circus act was something to applaud.  

I fell in love with you when you told me that the expression I had when I spoke about my family was the most beautiful thing. You understood the labyrinthine workings of my tangled soul in a heartbeat, you became a second skin, slipping under my dermis. Rearranging walls, barriers to your whim, you left me defenceless.  

Who steals from a house with an open door?  

You told me I was velvet, not dark, you held a space for me that made me something sacred, you didn't turn away when my armchair demons settled in for the afternoon. Instead you lit the fire and asked if I was hungry.  

My hunger was for empathic understanding, the poetry of simplicity, the sound of your smile, the soft press of your body against my spine in sleep, and most of all, for respect.

Who lacerates an already vulnerable heart?  

It should have been bliss, it should have been coffee, conversation, the slow slide between my legs before dawn, it should have been your mouth on mine, kissing me like the oxygen was secondary. I bled to love you, spilling all my pain and heartbreak into a dam to help you find your way back home.

You unwove parts of my soul I feared too tightly bound, you made me wanton, you put pink in my cheeks and toast in my belly and your kind of love was everything I wanted until you turned it into possession.
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Submitted on
November 1, 2017
Mature Content


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