cruelty and miracles.

I’ll never forget the way
you looked right after sex,
blissed out with heavy lids
and a lazy, happy smile;
the things that meant:
let’s not fight, not right now.

and you would bury your lips
in the curve of my neck,
and fix your hands in the
space of my waist,
and for just a moment we were
stars without a purpose,
burning into each other.

Later, words full of hate
and laced with cheap vodka
would break the air between us,
and my own tongue would just
keep slicing the tension with
biting accusations, and neither of
us would ever say the things we meant.

There are moments, just before the sun
spreads over the horizon, when I
remember the sweet embrace of your
grin, the gentle comfort of your laugh.

There are moments, when the sky is
darker than the breath that passes from
my lungs, when I remember the silent
seething that led up to an alcohol-fueled
year and half long breakup; there were just
too many things to lock up all at once,
and I feel like you never shared the keys.

there are moments, in the quiet,
cigar pressed idlely in hand, eyes fixed on
an unknown future, when I dial your number;
a thousands questions fixed on the tip of my teeth,
poised in the back of my throat. (those moments
end with a well-timed email and memories
that just keep leaving bruises).

there’s this constant, this rhythm in my chest,
this undeniable beat of your name against bone,
carved into muscle and flesh.

It’s not a heart, but it feels like love all the same.

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ianachronism

I am made of magic, madness, and moonlight

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