never too deep to keep me from

climbing out, maybe poetry isn’t

about the words, just the way

your hands hold warmth against

tired eyes - ever since I memorized

your face, it has become so hard to

remember anything else, but I’m

swimming in a love so deep I only

take shallow breaths because I

know my heart can’t possibly

hold anything more - flowers still

look pretty in broken vases & your

love is beautiful no matter the shape

hear, it’s the one I feel when I

think of you & you’re this ache

scraping against my bones,

pounding through my veins;

I dream of you every night

only to wake alone again &

maybe I love you means if you

fall apart around me, I’ll always

keep the pieces safe, because

what I have with you, I don’t

want with

by Dorianne Laux

A flower that you water

A flower that you starve

A flower that you give light to

A flower then shunned to the dark.

I’m a flower,

A flower with no consistency

A flower caught in the in between

A flower on the verge of blooming

A flower then too afraid to be seen.

I’m your flower,

A flower that grows with your love

A flower that wilts with your neglect

A flower that fights through relentless dirt

A flower that’s never quite perfect

For you.

we're friends? I'll always have you in my heart, ove you and appreciate you.

we haven't talked for too long? okay, that doesn't change anything. if you message me I'll happily message you back, I'll talk to you as if we weren't apart and tell you about everything that has been going on.

you've got problems? tell me about them, I'll listen.

everything you tell me is and always will be safe with me and I won't tell it anyone, not even my closest friend.

and if it's one thing, I'd never ignore you. I'll always turn towards you and reply, listen, whatever you need.

I’ve rolled your name around at the back of my mouth, practiced how I would offer it up to my heart, tasted it like the first piece of a new recipe. I’ve sung it under my breath to test how it sounds, paired it with endearments, written it in dedications. These days I keep it tucked next to my cheek, ready to pop out as soon as it is permitted.

Look, I’m not saying we’re the world’s next great romance. I’m not saying we’re a perfect match or soulmates or destined to run into each other’s embrace with a candy orange sunset backdrop. I’m saying I admire your jagged edges and honeyed thoughts, the shadowed mysteries of you I have yet to meet. I’m saying there’s an empty seat at my dining room table I’d like for you to fill.

I’ve reasoned with my better self to try to let you go, counted miles and paychecks and reality checks for why I shouldn’t burden you with my confessions, why I should choke these feelings down like a particularly rough bottle of tequila. My selfish self is winning, is writing love letters in hot pink ink that start with your name and end in lipstick kisses pressed to the page.

I’ve reserved a room in my head for you, set flowers on the nightstand, framed the window in heavy gauze drapes to give the room a golden glow. I’ve laid promises at the foot of the bed, left a fresh toothbrush on the pillow, done my best to welcome you in. Please ignore the way my hands shake as I offer you the key.