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a nebula looks down on you and finds itself in envy and all i can think is that if all the best atoms arranged themselves,  it would be an abstract painting of you my heart is louder than the city outside and my hands are shaking and just how did i get so lucky as to ever have you?

between us lives a static unspoken. your fingers brushing my wrist feels exactly like fire does when you’re the most ready to burn down the house. when i was sixteen i hung out sunroof going 60 miles an hour in the middle of a summer thunderstorm until my lungs were wet rags. having you near me makes me twice as breathless. 

you speak her name differently, like a sharp edge on sea glass, like the morning your mother stopped making your lunches, like how blueberries taste at their ripest. your eyes catch on her like a snagged sweater, you unravel yourself on her. she laughs and the room fills up with the sound of it, and you explode into it. her fingers between yours are little anchors, little reminders of fragile and whole. she sings the world at the top of her lungs, she drives herself into rainstorms.  but you’re soft, poison ivy, small weed body. you cannot crawl into her cracks and make her into garden, not when she is already a forest all on her own. she holds shadows between her hipbones and folds herself razor notes she tucks into the cavities inside her soul, ripped aching holes that hands like yours don’t know how to sew. you want to make her a necklace out of kisses just so she can’t hang a noose where love bruises would. you want to be the person she calls at four in the morning when the sweat breaks out down her spine and her grave starts calling. you want to give her your secrets as an unopened box, give her your body as the key. you want to tell her: we were born from the same demons, became iron in fire, swallowed the same  bitter sea. but you are nothing, and she is lovely, and in the morning, someone else will be her ocean, in the way you’ll never be.

I’m not gonna lie, when I first saw you I wanted to throw you up against the wall.

sext: where’s the weirdest place you’ve touched yourself? where’s the weirdest place you’ve thought about me? sext: let me take off your clothes and show you why you remind me of my favourite monet painting and the best glass of red wine I’ve ever tasted. sext: I love you more than sleeping with the light on.