draw me in notes in your books of poetry
on your yellowed paper, singing
like I could be a goddess and it kills me
because I know I could never be the
goddess you deserve because my music
would never match up to the sound of your guitar.
I save my smiles for you, keep the most special ones
tucked inside the hollows of my cheeks, so that
on winter days when the sun hides behind whirlwind clouds and you
hide under the sheets, I can light up your world, even
if it's just for a little bit. You mean
that much and I swear that if you told me
to never ever smile at anyone but you
I would gladly answer yes before you finished taking a breath.
My eyes are so dark in yours and I can see what you see
when you see yourself reflected in the black.
I'm constantly remembering when you told me you see
some kind of infinity in them and it's a sign that I would never perish.
'But everyone dies,' I argued.
'Not you. babe. You'll flow through the veins of the cosmos
long after your body has wilted away.'
I wanted to ask if you would flow with me,
if you'd come along for this infinite ride.
You lay kisses on my cheeks, my head, my wrists
but never my lips and it scares me
the way I hold on to this hard love.
Your hands are hotcold when you trace patters
down my spine, and though your face is guarded
your muscles tense and I can feel you fighting your bones.
You hold me with such reserve, never
one step out of line, afraid to hurt me, yet
sometimes I think that you press roses into my hands
just to see me bleed.
Even while you murmur promises
and sketch your affections in constellations
I can't help but thinking of how
it never did make sense for you to love