Thursday, February 2, 2017

I wake up 
just before the sun rises
and like the light does 
to the curve of the earth
I slip my hand down your belly 
and wake the birds 
just to listen to them sing
just to watch them fly


in the not-so-distant past of a not-so-distant future, who opened their eyes first? was that you, was that meI remember taking a selfie just to see how I look in the morning waking up beside you in a room that I wouldn't come to hate despite its serious effort to repel me with its glitter plastered walls or its completely unnecessary phone device on the bathroom wall or its decadent flooring or its peculiar scent of vanity products, or -god- all its details that had murdered aesthetics forever

memory never serves me in the long run, but I remember my face because I looked at it for a while, trying to detect signs of your lower lip widening to an excruciating point of symmetry turning to smile so painfully seductive. I remember my eyes, half open, trying to detect signs of your love invisible and powerful and uncontrollable, and beautiful and possibly even unsuitable _ rewind this for me, will you? I tell the brain and it quietly obeys; each time it does one more part has gone missing_ but I remember you in me, I remember your bracelet and I know you're wearing it still_  

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