peach dream

“Under your hands, I bloom into ache– and heat and want. And heavy breath and mouth and mouth and mouth. I melt, all syrup on your fingers. You could almost spin me into candy floss, except for this weight on your hips: this body and how it buckles for your body.”

“Consider this: we fuck with the lights on. You trace the flat shape of my breasts when I lay down. We keep the windows open because the rain smells like the closest we’ve ever been to Heaven. We watch the ferns drip like they’re heavy with honey. I cut red peppers in the kitchen. You put on every song we’ve ever fallen in love to. I’m beginning to lose the difference between our skin. I’m cold when you’re shivering. I ache when you’re lonely. I can feel the warmth in your pink, fluttering heart, and I hold it in my hands.”

So I kiss the bloody rot of you, or I don’t kiss you at all, have dreams about your mouth and your starry-headed angel eyes, unlearn your constant love and ache. - So I remember how you smelled last Autumn, when we thought we’d make it through winter just this once, so I remember your teeth like ivory, your tongue like peach juice, a season that never came. - So here comes five years of the haunting, a ghost I never shook off, the phantom limb of  you, the way I sometimes wake at night, half-drenched in sleep and heartache, and still remember, with burning clarity, your name, all at once, like I never lost it, - like you still slept beside me.

Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.