where do the lonely lovers sleep?

where do the lonely lovers sleep?


oh god
I am scared
I looked at her today
held her gaze
and felt myself welling up
confused, I looked away
never has such a feeling
moved over my bones
in such a tremendous way
after she left
I remained sprawled out
on my back
my right hand tracing
the warmth her skin
had left on my bed
I thought of her eyelashes
I pictured them as butterflies
in a crowded forest
swarming around the trunk of a tree
fluttering; hiding the lively, brown bark
she blinks and they migrate
I follow
hours are gone and it is dark
her side is cold now
and I want to hear her voice
or see her eyes looking up at me
fuck
my chest is cold
where she kept her head
my hands are cold
where I kept hers
I am thinking about
the way that she walks
and how I want to
capture it in pictures
also how I need a recording of her cursing
an angel being vile feels so much like purgatory
that curl in her lips
that hiss in her breath as she sleeps
I need it all
I need to capture it in a tank
so in times like these I can inhale it all
like my last breath of air
god
her fingers and their lines
the creases and indents
I don’t know if I want to
keep my distance so I can watch
them open and close like fly traps
or use them to stir my morning coffee
she tastes like what the ocean looks like
just
so vast
so blue
honest with careless thoughts
I look at her and know
that there is not one grain of salt
underneath her changing tides
my fingers get tangled
around a piece of her hair
that got detached from her
beautiful little head
it pulls tightly against my skin
and I need it
I only wish it was her teeth
I may be too honest
and far too overwhelming
but I am fucking scared
because it is now morning
and I love her