I want to call you darling, but

I want to call you
darling, but
both of us fall undone
by the smallest drop of tenderness.
My breath has been stolen from my lungs
and gone out in search of you,
lingering dream.
It’s not so terrible,
I think, to desire this deeply;
the remnants of you
fill my stomach
in a rush.

walking through a summer blaze,
grass dry on my bare legs,
meditative cicadas thrumming
through your ribs.

your hands stir sleepy in my hair,
chin buried in that funny sweater.
there is snow outside,
but I am warm.

we play hide-and-seek in church ruins.
heavy tastes foreign on your tongue,
I run, but you
catch me. tiny lizards watch.

eagerly, we feed each other
with books, minds growing fat
in the decadence of it all.
shelves fill the walls.

my hand is cold in yours,
silently lost in a gallery.
with the other I slip
haiku in your pockets.

I am too small to beg, but
I do. My mouth to yours,
between your teeth,
breath happy between
cavities, the hollow
recesses of our bodies.


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