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mornings on suburban trainsdearest, you have thunder in your eyes
and lacing your fingertips
the mornings that you sit across from me on suburban trains; they are the brightest mornings of all. i could spend the whole trip admiring each curl in your hair and the shape of each fingernail if only i had the time. sometimes our legs brush when we sit across from each other, and my heart skips, but i don't think you even notice. your gaze lingers on the scenery outside the window; as if you wished you were outside too. as if the train was a cage.
if only you would let me, i could brighten your mornings too.
the afternoons that we exit the train at the same stop, they are the warmest afternoons of all. we split ways at the end of the station; i go left and you go right, but listening to your heels tap against the concrete even for thirty seconds makes me want to hold you in my arms and never, ever let you go.
the morning you smiled at me, i think my heart stopped momentarily. you had off-white teeth and dimples
nightmares.there are demons in your eyes, darling;
fall asleep listening to their screams, fall
asleep tracing your ribcage and wonder if maybe
your heart is a ghost, maybe your heart is haunting
someone, somewhere. fall asleep and dream of
needles prodding at your mind, pulling out the weeds
as if your mind was a garden, your mind is a
garden but once the weeds are gone, there is nothing but
dirt; dirt and worms and nightmares and screams.
dream of fingers shoved down your throat, and they have found
your heart and your heart is not a ghost, no, your heart is alive,
because the fingers are clawing your heart and it hurts like
fingernails on blackboards and you scream, and someone is listening but they're
fall asleep and forget you're dreaming.
stuck in transit.Time bends and snaps the spine of reality between its hands.
Desires bleed like the ink you've left smudged and faded on my hips. The room is empty without your breath to swell the walls; my bed is cold without the warmth filtering through your pores. The clock is manipulated and broken, the ticks becoming distorted screams, the silences becoming gasping moans. Sleep flutters behind eyelids and drags at the exhausted mind until I am writhing under the sheets that smell like you, nails biting my scalp, body contorted against the pressure you kept at bay.
My memory sinks and anchors on the same parts:
The honey of your tongue and the heat of your sleepy lips against the back of my neck. Your palms following the nerves radiating under my skin until they quieted and fled. Soapy shoulders and sticky, peanut butter kisses. Murmured Whitman as we sprawled on bench swings and echoed songs as we shot down back roads isolated in sound.
Memories drag me down and pull me up, wring me dr