There’s a map still hung up on my wall,
just right next to my bed
so that my fingers can swim the blue paper of ocean
and trace the miles
I’m pretending are inches
Here, you don’t look too far.
You choked on the last syllable of my name
like you didn’t want it to leave you lips;
said goodbye in a whisper
so neither one of us had to hear it.
We are last-minute loving.
Crashing soft skin on cotton blankets,
ignoring plane tickets
and living on exhales.
you told me you loved me.
You said you couldn’t sleep knowing
what I didn’t,
that there was a word burning so hot inside of you,
you couldn’t waste another second.
I said it back.
Across the wobbly restaurant table,
you told me about home;
the horizon’s I’ve never seen,
how words form differently, and clocks
were moving too fast.
I couldn’t look away from your mouth
wondering how your memories
would taste on my tongue.
We are perfect strangers
there is something about you
I’d kill to call home.