08-30-2024, 10:44 AM
Version 2:
somewhere we are backlit by balloon arches and plastic punch bowls,
my palm on the small of your back,
the satin forest of your dress swaying
and somewhere you are winking at me
in the gender studies section
my Converse squeaking closer
to slip a phone number between the pages of Judith Butler
and somewhere I am pushed hard against the slick wall of The Eagle
sinking to my knees, your hands in my hair
giving each other something nameless and electric
but today I am teaching myself to love
our unentwined pasts
dance parties and midnight movies and porch swings
our lives contoured to distance
and today I am leaning on the pressure points
of my loneliness
cooking for you in an empty kitchen
tasting you beneath the blankets of sleep
corseting myself into waiting
with the ache of taut bowstrings
and today the weight of your absence
is a violet unfolding
your fingers rising from the soil to brush my cheek
my body rooting to you with long tendrils
petals reaching endlessly for the sun
somewhere we are backlit by balloon arches and plastic punch bowls,
my palm on the small of your back,
the satin forest of your dress swaying
and somewhere you are winking at me
in the gender studies section
my Converse squeaking closer
to slip a phone number between the pages of Judith Butler
and somewhere I am pushed hard against the slick wall of The Eagle
sinking to my knees, your hands in my hair
giving each other something nameless and electric
but today I am teaching myself to love
our unentwined pasts
dance parties and midnight movies and porch swings
our lives contoured to distance
and today I am leaning on the pressure points
of my loneliness
cooking for you in an empty kitchen
tasting you beneath the blankets of sleep
corseting myself into waiting
with the ache of taut bowstrings
and today the weight of your absence
is a violet unfolding
your fingers rising from the soil to brush my cheek
my body rooting to you with long tendrils
petals reaching endlessly for the sun
Quote:Author note: Open to detailed crit, especially thoughts on the last stanza. This has been through a LOT of editing already though, so please be nice.
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We only have this timeline, but somewhere
we are backlit by balloon arches, plastic punch bowls
my palm on the small of your back,
the satin forest of your dress swaying
and somewhere you are winking at me
in the gender studies section
converse squeaking closer
to slip my number between the pages of Judith Butler for you
and somewhere you are pushing me hard
against the slick wall of The Eagle
sinking to my knees, your hands in my hair
giving each other something nameless and electric
but today I am teaching myself to love our untwined pasts
dance parties and midnight movies and porch swings
contoured to bifurcated cities
and today I am leaning on the pressure points
of my loneliness
cooking for you in an empty kitchen
tasting you beneath the blankets of sleep
corseting myself into waiting
with the ache of taut bowstrings
The weight of your absence
transcribes bruises across a body reaching
scanning the horizon of queer bars, diner booths, book clubs
seeding cloudbursts and autumns heavy with longing
so that your story might envelope me in heady embrace
those precious moments we collide