The rules are clear and they
state that you’re not allowed to
tell me that you want me in a way
that scares you witless
and leaves you paralyzed
in a pool of
maybe I shouldn’t
and I’m not allowed to tell you that
I want you like 12 am
wants the moonlight
even though you know that my
want is really just an embarrassed need
and that I am too proud to admit
that darkness fills my chest
when you fail to come around.
So we don’t, at least not out loud.
I will pretend I don’t notice the
wetness on your cheeks after you brush
me off your teeth and you will realize
that I now realize that
even though you are not mine
your lips had told me otherwise
when they kissed the arch of my back
the night before
(and please just tell me you noticed that
our bodies fit together like
the ocean to the shore
and that your sand
has made itself a home at my very core).
I’m sorry I don’t know how to want you gracefully, and I’m sorry that my desperation for you stinks up every room I enter, and I’m sorry I was the hurricane that shattered the calm after your storm, and I’m sorry that I poured a bucket of ice on your already cold feet. But the forces that bind me to you are the very same forces that bind the Earth to the Sun and my only excuse is that I was trying to cool the fire in your chest, and my chest, but the closer I got the more the two of us burned.
Love is sin enough, but loving you
will leave me eternally unredeemable.