sprawled out under sheets of paper --
notes in cursive writing, slanted script in ink
when imagination grew sparse and cold
and the empty bed where you should sleep
taunts in patches, sequential enticement,
with the touch of a breathy kiss goodnight.
through dreaming, in dreaming, you’re there.
its got a lot to do with the way you are,
and the way you’re not, nor ever were, with me.
feet on the dashboard, hand in mine
and we drive through sentences and words -
the ones you’ve never used - colourful,
the way the hills rolled into black and white.
printed windshield glaring golden bright
in this threadbare world of my exuberance.
the blanket warms and soothes away the chill.
these books occupy the space between your fingers,
pages between your lips, letters in your lashes,
and the incandescent lighting reflects off
the nothingness of your shapely jaw, that night.
then I would curl into the warmth of you
when october’s freeze became to much to bear
alone; and rest could never come to one who waits.
but you lived in the pages I wrote,
and I believed in you.
~~
Spoiler! :
Gender:
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