poems (too busy to write more, lately)

the things we mean the most are always the hardest to say

(or, i love you).

it hovers. it grows larger with every scratch

i claw into the skin of your back. it stretches

out our lungs, like a pocket of unspoken air. it aches.

it coagulates in the membranes like sticky mucus,

like promises we hope we’ll somehow keep.

it teases our tastebuds. we roll it like a pebble

under our tongues. we try to stop it with moans

and whispers. with mouths to skin. with fear.

but finally it bursts.

and it surges, like a river behind a rising floodgate.

or a storm. it rumbles up our throats and washes

out of our pores. we touch each other in the most

intimate of places, the soles of our feet, the earlobe

and the hip bone. our sweat-slick bodies shiver.

our molecules tremble. we become parts of each other.

finally, we are most fully ourselves.