There was that time in the cab, nearly kicked out. Something about our credit cards, or the way our voices burned too bright, something about your charm kept our seats. We stopped at every intersection, but just barely made the turns, holding on to each other and cackling til’ we almost puked. Spent too much money on cocktails and imagined bar fights. The bartender hugged us on our way out. The night like a medium weight blanket, air still and salt smelling.
Your family was my family and my arms were your arms and I don’t know when you’re working anymore, so am not sure when to call. Which is a shitty way to say I can’t remember the way your car smells anymore, am always cooking and never bringing the wine, have lost track of which Murder She Wrote episodes I’ve already seen.
That conversation in the italian place, some crinkled corners of eyes, a promise of new into the world. A promise to figure it out. I’m still here and all of these words are stand in’s for stories we’ve yet to tell, voices breaking over sunset after sunset.
Your heart was my heart was your heart.
Since moving here I’m nothing but honeyed with promise. Shut
away from my failings like a thicket of blackberry blush. Your
cheeks on my chest, your sweet sweaty hope on my tongue. I can
smell you, hair stuck to forehead and pumping each gear of
those hundred mile legs. Just a few whispers north of my
stumble, shake, and steady.
Since moving here I am anything but movies alone, more like
April rain, perfumed. More verse than riddle.
You’ve offered me trowel, said,
“This fertile part, that’s ours.
That’s the way our names sound together.”
Since moving here I am everything if not heavy breathing and sprint, no longer
a crawling season, heating up to overflowing and
Every liter of the root of us blooming.
Never out of breath we
gasped into the night sky for the fun of it. For
every promise we kissed into
each tore up road sign. Every
in God we -suddenly- trust near miss.
That lanky turn of highway
Your feet on the dashboard,
car doors full of empty soda pop cans.
like we ran out of gas, laughing like
we’d never seen this rest-stop
before, like we’d always find a way to
My two-fingered whiskey grip on your hips,
cheeks flushed –
thighs stuck to thighs
stuck to thighs stuck to
every mile we’d yet.
Your hands all over my chest,
bumper bruised with your name.
Right up on the edge of the best view –
a star scape of your eyes reflected rear-view
and my heart beating back.
Never out of breath.
blue lights and
lamp-shade post it notes.
Bad dreams fended off.
That part of your back where your shoulderbladesnearly touch –
and my nose a perfect fit,
breathing in the years of you to come.