we were kissing on the floor
somewhere screaming, and i
may have mistaken someone for you
pouring my existence into their mold
just to feel closer to you
met her a few weeks ago
and was told i shared the way you laughed
once your Fisherman’s Friend
and as you inhaled my breath
your hands clung to my throat
lashing out my last poetry line
until i was buried even deeper down your lungs
the night got traveled by
so endearingly tender
while your lips found my heartbeat dancing
oh, tango soul,
your dark pupils reach me from the corners
and now – i can finally look at you
may have killed myself stealin’
from our kiss leftovers of your
last cigarettes / but i’m alright
my touch on your eyes crystalizes
we now kiss on the floor
falling like sinking kites,
and as you anchor me to the back of your neck
all in me is
you.
Author's Note:
A short poem about how love can tenderly steal away your identity, turning you into a sweet replica of your adored ones. In celebration of the witchy season.
Comments