things I wish I had said

“delicious,” he called me
with his eyes fixed on my body
and in my head I answered:
“just wait until you see my heart.”

Advertisements

this type of magic

tell me your Mondays are sleepy and saturated
with an unquenchable thirst for Sundays spent under the covers with me,
tell me you’ll dance in rainstorms when they come
and tell me you won’t forget
the mornings we’d stay in bed for hours and the walks we would take only for necessary supplies: croissants with whiskey in our coffee,
tell me you like that I’m just as good
at being bad as you are;
tell me my laughter has become
your favorite sound
and when you first open your eyes beside me, awaken my spine with a trail of kisses
and my heart with the sound of your voice near my ear
whispering “bom dia,” good morning in my native tongue,
as you bring me back to this moment, this life,
and out of the mediocre existence
my heart had for so long settled for.
Dance with me in the kitchen
to all the songs we have yet to call our own
and let me feed you, body and soul,
read you poetry while we lounge in the comfort of the four walls
and two arms I’ve turned into home,
and when the sun fills my eyes with pools of honey tell me I’m beautiful as if you have never seen me before and run your hands over my body to memorize every curve, every ridge, every scar…

If I were looking for just another someone
I would’ve settled long ago.

darling,
tell me we were made
for this type of magic.

this type of love.

just a boy

I’ve always been a fan of the fixer uppers,
maybe because for a while there
I thought of myself as one, or maybe
I was so broken that I thought I deserved the same,
some more jagged sharp edges to pierce my center,
another critical mind to judge me harshly,
or maybe I was just as shallow
in my simplistic demands for passion,
maybe just as dumb to think I could keep
fire separate from warmth;
hands separate from love…
a line drawn in the middle with an incredulous finger
when it became obvious he had no heart to gift back.

was that really a choice or just me giving in?

Now he calls me a girl
as if he hadn’t yet met the woman I’ve become
and I call him a boy
because that’s exactly
who he is.

planting sunflowers

He was enough
just the way he was
the day he helped me plant my first sunflower
and as if speaking to the child inside me
he told me to not be scared for the worms
as I dug my shovel into the clumps of soil,
putting all their lives in peril.

And I remember smiling at the fact that
we could yell at each other
and then spend the rest of the day’s light
playing in the dirt
together.