Sometimes I wish I could stop the words that swim in your saltwater throat
sometimes I wish you could understand that I know everything, you don’t have to say it. You don’t have to speak–
I already know.
Your words molasses-thick stuck under my skin
the pads of my knuckles peeled back to my veins,
your shadow is acid and my hands can not hold it any longer.
Your mouth stained white like hotel bed sheets, your apologies like apple seeds,
like my lungs don’t work right,
like the wind knocked out of me,
like a swarm of bees dancing down my throat;
like I don’t know how to say goodbye.
My arms are a station and I have waited endlessly for your train to come home
Like lips that taste of peaches and every time I hear the word “leaving” my bones become tired of holding me together
I will always want you to come home.
The sun left freckles of gold on my forearms in hopes that the moon would taste my breaking skin;
but he never loved her, did he.
My eyelids feel like weights and I can not fight this oncoming sleep
Please tell me you really did love her and you just forgot you had copper hands, a bottle of throat, a ribcage of forest fires;
you were just too tired to be soft enough for her to love you back.
I’ll hold in me the house you built but never finished
you’ll never see my frostbite gums or my knees like ships
capsize to the bottom
you were an ocean
you swallowed everything.