sweetly, sweetly, I will build a shrine to your body
of empty kisses and these headaches I have.
I will pile up all the things, all the love I ever had,
and I will burn them
so that they become a fine white ash that aches through the air and forces itself past your lips into the beautiful chambers
of your chest.
you will inhale the soft sweet smoke of my past
like a cigarette,
making rings in the air, somersaults spinning like our children in water,
and it will fill your lungs completely, and wistfully it will erase all your memories
of rejection, of sadness,
I will be there to make you forget;
two bodies twisting a little like smoke above a coffee cup,
just trying to knock a little bit of hate from the world.
darling, and in the winter I will curl up beneath your ribcages
and count each fragile bone with my teeth.
I don't need conversation, no reason, just a heartbeat,
and your breath, grazing my chest
on a Sunday morning
as you sleep.