foolish fragile spine

The legacies people leave behind in you.

“Saturdays are always the best time to hold you, in the lonely dim lit hotel room under coffee-stained sheets that kept me snuggled up and longing. You make poetry sound like child’s play, your voice a monument and your irides like the rings of Saturn, those brown hues in between. The moon is always full where you are. Here in the dark I can see my way out now. My feet dangling off the cliffs and my eyes closed as if there are no jagged edges at the bottom, as if the waves can break my fall. Remember I was always the reckless one between us. To sleep with the windows open at night and to love with the lights off. Maybe we are a patchwork. Maybe we are indestructible, you and I. I take your stories and fold them into eights. How red the words taste when you breathe them into me. I’ve caught fire but I’m not the sun and you say you’re freezing without my light beneath the covers. It’s like This blanket fort with you is the safest I’ll ever feel. There are monsters everywhere and they’re no longer under my bed. Monsters that pretend to be people that pretend to love you. I can see through. I’m not afraid.”