you hold his face while you kiss him
numbers are dictation, dictators are numb.
the more i say the less you feel.
abandon age for pints and ounces, and let your ash-rimmed eyes fade to rivulets of african sand.
damn you for believing that blindness is sexy.
—
not that i should be surprised,
but i am ill.
not in the way my brain ticktocks but
in the way the room spins when i stand up
and the way i shiverandshake with no music on.

You never want to be the first one to say something but you know someone has to say something sooner or later.
This dance is slow, we glide with our bodies close but not touching because touching would cause ignition and that is not a handful of warm it is a fireplace of burning embers and we are waltzing, not tearing at each other’s clothes and hair and skin, no.
It is gentle and careful and we are not assuming anything this time around. All the i’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed.

it is so easy, really, it is like we just met only we already know everything there is to know yet we are still learning and growing and falling. there is no stress about having anything fit into a box or understanding the whys or hows it just is and that is wonderful (isn’t it?). we can talk about Vulcans, butterflies, Lincoln and The Skarsgårds. we shall sit knee-to-knee on the carpet having a staring contest.

i will lose because i laugh too easily and you know how to pull me out that way. over and over laugh laugh laugh. he tells me to control my emotions. i call him an android and he says something snarky. i tickle him

he falls backwards into the dark

everything in my life is so perfect, everything is so easy