I came from the old country and didn't understand
everything that she said when we went out.

It didn't seem to matter as the car screamed
furious friction over the blacktop and her face
told me to just keep driving faster until
city lights splashed against alabaster skin,
the perfect canvas for these new rainbows
to dance along before flickering back into the dark.

I could say none of this to her but she will 
ask for me to tell her about myself
as if history can be so easily given.

Maybe there's something ancient that carries over,
some kind of dark vague rage in the blood
that has left me to be so guarded.

I could not tell her of glass shattered everywhere
or how an explosion actually sounds more like 
a deafening wind from the sudden vacuum
left by such a precise and violent science,
I could not tell her about the shrapnel
that makes me walk slightly off rhythm,
a messy but unique improvised note
that she seemed to be transfixed by. 

She will not ask about my scar,
the story would take too long,
it is more like a photograph's memory
and the heart has to make it this way
when time abruptly ends all that is flesh.

I will not ask why a single tear hovers 
as she finishes the last of her drink,
but a twinkle shines there when she 
asks me to drive her back home.

I just wish I had all the right words,
all the things that she deserves.

And her apartment was special to me,
the air tinged with flowers and perfumes
she doesn't need to draw me closer,
she's already cupping my face
so softly as if I may break. 

And when our lips meet she is the best taste 
that my inexperienced mouth has savored
sweet and enraptured with the foreign,
I can tell her that her eyes are like
explosions flowering across the vast night sky,
how I'm lost in the way our skins beautifully contrast.

But maybe words aren't the most important thing,
since she can already feel my aching want made known,
how it speaks, screams, and gently whispers within
and everything in her is electric and singing,
how all that I am and was and will be is carried 
in the safest place I have ever come to know,
it's all warm oceans, sugars, and strobing lights.

It is from within that we can say 
everything and understand each other.

And after that flash we lie almost still,
her fingertips moved as a signature,
she traced there like she could see 
the imprinted lifelines in our palms meeting
as river currents floating forever in tandem.

I would feel a puncture in my chest 
if I was asked to leave right now,
I didn't even know there was anything
left there that could be hurt. 

Maybe there's something ancient that carries 
over in the blood that has us spooned 
close enough to feel the heart thunder,
something to keep us safe before all we are
eventually flickers back into the dark. 

Maybe I can give her my history before then,
something we can keep and grow together.

Maybe I'll have enough time to say the words,
to give her everything that she deserves.