Words I should have said sooner.

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To wake up one day and realise that I am

not in love with you.

Worse, to realise that I did not

wake up one with this realisation.

It has been there

for weeks.

I ignored it, questioned it,

explained it away

except that sort of thing,

feeling nothing, wanting nothing, needing nothing,

that sort of thing doesn’t go away.

It is a hungry, gnawing ache that demands to be felt.

I don’t mean to do this.

I won’t mean to break your china heart.

Arson. I won’t mean to burn it all to the ground.

Ashes.

But this is what I do.

 

 

How will you know you’re in love?

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“I’m going to say it before I have a nervous breakdown waiting for you to say it.”

Shuttering breath. Reverberating silence in my lungs.

“I love you”

Three words

I lap up like water in the desert.

Words that make botanical gardens bloom on the tips of my fingers.

Make me wonder if, possibly, I am slipping into a black hole.

 

Make my heart teem and overflow.

My heart is responsible for the currents and tides.

Love feels

As easy as turning your cohesive matter into individual, excitable atoms.

Love feels

like your heartbeat in my eardrum. Still not close enough to satiate

my greedy heart.

 

With the universe swirling madly through your veins,

coursing, molten magma

how could you not know?

 

 

 

stars

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“You’re hands are so warm”

I say

What I mean is “I probably love you”

The words rattle themselves fiercely against the inside of my scull,

prisoners,

pinball their way through synapses

As electric as the currents fighting to keep my heart beating a regular rhythm.

The unsaid words creating a fine chaos of my inner workings.

You hold your hand over my heart.

I fear the words will sear through my ribs and

singe your hand.

 

I swallow the words

to the bottom of the galaxy in my chest.

Bury them amongst stardust and supernovas.

I kiss you deeply,

hoping you can taste the universe on my lips.

 

Cacti

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I can’t help it.

I know but you don’t know I know.

The oppression and misery that follow

stings like that damn cactus that I cannot water without

impaling myself on.

You know that feeling too.

You know fear like a churning sea

a dark stormy heart.

You know how to compartmentalize.

How to take your rainbow spirit, your sizzling creativity,

your magnificence and shrink it to fit in to the palms of those with

small, hateful minds.

You know how it feels to be made small by others cowardice.

 

If I could travel back  in time

I would go back

7 years and 4 months to that dark car, in that parking lot.

I would hug you and tell you that you are every star in my sky.

You are light and power and have always helped me to see possibility

I would tell you that nothing matters but my whole heart full of love.

 

My regret and shame is unending.

How does one go about healing a damn cactus wound?

 

Parka

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The door opens and it is far too cold for my exposed knees, bare toes, naked thighs.

My Arctic Monkeys tee barely covers the delicate thong I put on. For your eyes only.

Your smile, sleepy. Your eyes, unbridled.

12:27.

You open your arms to me and I slip in to the warmth of your parka.

Breathe the last 5 hours off your skin. Fingers laced in your belt.

Pulling you as close as I can.

You tease a pattern in my hair knowing that drives me wild.

I kiss your scratchy jaw line. Your lips. your ear lobe.

My lips can’t seem to get enough. Greedy.

I might happily stay here. Wrapped in safety, sanctuary.

I pull away. Bite my lip. Cast you a farewell smile.

Immediately missing your heat.

I slip in to dreams of you just as carelessly as I slip in to your arms.

Friday (read: ennui)

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I wish that all days were candy coated,

too hot and still feel the sun on your face hours later

more like a Polaroid than a real life

a little hazy and drenched with adventure.

They are not. Some days your heart packs it’s bags for rainier climates

somewhere that it discovers a penchant for fried eggs and sparkling wines.

It probably carries around a small umbrella in it’s purse ‘just in case.’

It probably says things like “a bad day in London is better than a good day anywhere else.”  Some days this will ring true.

Your adventuresome heart might get lonely sometimes and decide that a boy with eccentric habits and an impeccable jaw line can fix the cracks that threaten to shatter it’s water resistant finish.

Some days that boy will make it feel exhilarated. Some days that boy will take your heart to a small Italian restaurant for pasta where they will drink wine until their lips are the colour of falling in love.

Seeing Traflagar Square by night, your heart forgets every ache and longing it has ever known. To feel alive in a city that will never know your name will give your heart all of the courage it will ever need.

Some days my heart takes me back there.  Some days I keep it tethered because some days it hurts too much to go back to the rain drenched streets and the endless maze of the London tube.

Tonight I will hang on tight to my wandering heart.

Change of Matter

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He kisses me like being engulfed in flames is his super power.

like I have molten steel for blood

like I’m one shallow breath away from igniting.

His fingers on my shoulder feel like the holy grail.

like I’ve never known a moment, before or after, that I will care to relive more than this.

like 4 am is as good a time as any to fall deeper down the rabbit hole.

With his lips on mine and the world around us burning to cinders

my heart changes it’s state of matter.

I become certain that my heart was destined to be a gas.

How else could it be so natural to feel coursing energy in the air around me?

Greedy, I breathe in as deep as I dare.

Punch drunk on the magnificence of his being.

Hungry for every square-fucking-inch of  him.

His power is his chaos. unpredictability.

Havoc

that brings me to my knees and

rearranges my molecules.