the wrong moments

i’m just waiting for you to tell me
all the ways love isn’t enough.
i don’t think i’d blame you.
after all, i was the one who ate the apple;
you were just the man that loved me
without knowing what love was.

so don’t.
see the fruit in my hand and remember
adam and eve. persephone and hades.
remember the ways that I betray you,
remember my fascination with the snake in the grass,
remember that I am just a girl with pomegranate lips
and I will continue to poison you.

we are the same constellation in the sky,
but i am just a nebula and you are still
living, breathing, existing; you are
light entering my eyes–

and though
we exist within the same sphere,
we are already a billion light years
and a whole galaxy apart.

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The Spaces Between Our Lives

Why does the beginning always feel like the end?

every breath you take is just foreshadowing the moment your lungs cease.

every beat of your heart is a beat closer to slowing.

every word from your mouth might be the last to touch your lips.

when you touch my skin I feel like a dying star, moments away from supernova.

when you enter my bloodstream, I feel the way my pulse changes to accommodate you.

why does it feel like every time we’re ending, we’re just breaths away from the next heartbeat?

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.