After it's over and there's nothing
but the crushing winter quiet that
I can almost hold as a touchstone,
there are no silver points of stars,
nothing but the falling snow as I
remember what I should have said.
Words that may never bring you home,
I don't know how to say that you
deserve more than I know how to give.
But there's no going back
once you've cut that deep,
once you've touched the soul
and I'm only whispering this now
because you once asked me
to tell you where it hurt and why.
But I can't describe the way your face
lit up in a flash of violent lightning
one night as we walked before
the rain was ready to burst from
the sky that was dark unmoving smoke
trapping the sound of leaves breaking
with our every slow step to your house,
your eyes so dark that they glittered
against even the faintest slant of light.
I note the force of being pinned against
your bed for the very first time
and even many times later the way
your longing hummed and charged your bones
made me feel like something completely weightless,
something so tiny simply caught in a storm
and always ready to just be blown away.
You pulse against my lips so hard
that I'm convinced this beating vein
fluttering so delicately beneath the skin
is truly where all desire and need begin,
all the familiar places made anew.
I don't know what still rages there
but I can still feel the need
to meet the way rain meets,
indistinguishable from one another
with a helpless fury crashing from
gravity's resolute unseen draw.
It's where everything is both sweet liquid,
a rippling push and pull all at once
and it's a mystery why we're very different
yet perfectly made only for one another.
