As the roses bloom

The smell of your skin

I am an earthquake of feelings, desires, dreams, and longings caged in by skin and bone.

You told me you loved me. And I said: no, you don’t. And you laughed at me. You said: but I do. And I said: no, you don’t even know me. And you said: yes I do. No, you don’t. How you could you? We’d only been together for 3 months. You think you know me, I explain, but you’ve never seen me get blindly angry, or get so depressed that I can’t leave my room for weeks. You’ve never seen me at my worst— you’ve never even seen me at my best.

I wanted to kiss you in so many more places than I got to. I wanted to kiss you in the rain, while the makeup ran down my face and you laughed at me for being self-conscious. While the thunder rumbled and the only thing keeping me warm was the heat coming off your drenched skin. I wanted to kiss you in a movie theater, while the screen flashed unnoticed above our heads and your hand crept slowly between my thighs. When the only thing louder than the beat of my heart was the pull I felt to be near you. I wanted to share Cotten-Candy flavored kisses with you at the fair, our checks still aglow from a stomach dropping ride. My voice horse from screaming and your hands sore from letting me hold onto them for comfort. I wanted to take you to a beautiful restaurant. The kind where everything was expensive and portentous. I’d wear something breathe-taking while stealing wine-drunk kisses from you in a dim alcove lit only by candle light. Then, I want to go back to all the places we’ve been before and kiss you one more time. To the club where it all started, with the flashing colors and pounding music—when my lips traveled up your neck, biting and licking, in slow anticipation of our first kiss. In the streets, where you held my hand and carried me on your back. Where I fell asleep on the curve of your lap and we kissed simply once to seel our feelings. To the end of our first date, when I jumped into your arms knocking you into the sand and you kissed me so roughly I could taste your desire. To the first time we fucked on the beach, when you brought your face so close that I could feel the warmth of your breath on my lips. You waited to kiss me until the last second you could stand it, and once we started a force took over the both of us that could not be stopped. To that night we spent at the beach house, were I could never quite get enough. Where your hands and my hands moved in sync and the walls of the house could not contain our passion. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that. And finally, that time you wrote me a poem and I surprised you by pushing your chair back, sitting on top of your lap, and kissing you shamelessly in thanks. I said that night that it didn’t matter who your first kiss was, because I was your last.

I went looking for your jacket yesterday. You know, the one you gave me? It never fit right and I looked like a giant marshmallow when I wore it, but it smelled like you....And the beach where we went to fuck when there was no place else to go.