Midnight and Other Romanticized Times

Your lips
taste like familiarities
and your fingers
cast shadows resembling memories
that dance along
my bedroom walls.
Your muffled walkie-talkie voice
resinates within me
a feeling of forgotten
(or a feeling of forgetting)
that had once
consumed me.
Your arms cradle me
like home
and your back
stretches before me like
a landscape in my favourite painting
while your hair
kisses your shoulders
like falling stars
from a dream I had once
long ago.
You are Tuesday evening
music lessons,
you are winter sunrises
and northern lights,
you are the best pieces
of a puzzle I never knew
how to finish.
Hope dances around your eyes
like they are its ballroom,
twirling and trying to impress
passing strangers,
luring them in;
it worked on me
and I became
Teach me how to make
my laugh sound like bubbles
or my skin feel like twilight
or my arms
feel like bedtime
and teach me
what it’s like to fly
without wings.
The freckles on your chest
spell out the word
to my squinting eyes
and I can’t tell
if that’s a promise
or a sigh
but either way
infinity sounds pretty good to me.
Your hands shake like earthquakes
about to break apart the world,
my world,
but part of me will never care
because that same part of me
likes the rumble
of distant thunder
and the taste of fear
mixed with two parts
stale and lingering
regret on my tongue.
I build cities out of constellations,
tell you I am mapping
the cosmos in your eyes
but I think you know that
I am really just trying
not to forget the
shades they turn
when you look at me.
And I am so terrified
because I’ve been this high before,
fallen with a giant leap
filled with confidence and naivety
only to come crashing
to the world I had thought
I left behind.
And I am so terrified
because your lips taste too familiar
and your smile seems too friendly
and God,
if love is strange
the first time around,
it is completely foreign
the second.
I am so terrified
because now
I have gained all there is to gain
and because now
there’s everything to lose.
But I look at you now
with your sleeping face coated in
hazy shadows and
morning calm
and I feel, for once,
you have a tendency
of changing my emotions
faster than a weather shift
in Florida,
faster than I could wake you up
with a kiss.


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