this poem cannot be about you


when you left at two a.m.

i didn’t want to go to sleep

so now i am sitting here

with a roomful of regrets

wishing i could have followed you down that hallway,

nothing would waste my time so well

as climbing into bed with you.


i follow you so close behind

when you bring these things out of me i’ve never said before

and i’m caring now about how i define

my kind of paradise.


i want to touch you till we’re burning

i want to touch you and still stay as innocent as you used to think i was.


you know how i drink the sky when it’s made of gray

like i will never be thirsty again.

you know how the darkness tastes,

you know how beautiful a hand to hold looks in that darkness

when i run away from everything else.


wrap our fingers

like they’re fighting or embracing, tell me

we do not even need contact and still

we power the whole city.


but this poem cannot be about you,

there is so much already trying to end us,

an army racing over the hill-

intertwine your legs with mine, tell me

our own hands will not join that army.


maybe next time

i will follow you down that hallway after midnight.

i doubt it.


everyone is born with an angel in our rearview

and a bitter taste in our mouths.

everyone is born with a line to say,

we are two parts heavy and one part here.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 2/26/17

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