February 20, 2015

i won't tell you anymore.



these quiet little things

folds of your neck 
when you turn away

tap-tap-tap of your fingers
on my knee

the way your left eye
seemed to peer out
half closed
like an awakened animal
unsure
slowly remembering
how to hunt 
i felt such a shot
in my heart
i thought must be love.

but weren't we just

running up the stairs
laughing at the dog chasing us naked?
i think i laughed so hard
wondering if he wanted to bite my
juicy brown cheeks

dinner simmering
overdone now, i suppose

turmeric stained hands

bundles of nerves
punching my insides
is this what a fetus feels like?

i don't think i'll ever know.

i blend all together

to paint who you were 
with me
nobody's perfect
but i think we did okay

cowboy boots
my slinky purple dress

the night we first met.
sneaking glances
climbing into your truck
so shy.
open windows
sea salt air

i can feel you looking at me.

driving to the cabin
you made a fire
a symbol of stuttering sentences
ill placed sentiments

go ahead, burn me to dust

kiss me like you love me,

because tomorrow 

i won't tell you any more

quiet little things.