It's the Way We Are

my world is one of peach juice running down tongue tied cheeks. mountains cut through a wild, wild sky. we write poems about the stars and whisper them up into a cloudless night. mornings are reserved for lying with those we choose to keep. sunlight coming in through half-opened blinds. walls being brought up just to be tipped over. saturday afternoons in art museums. cold fingers run delicately on exposed backs. myrtle trees line the streets. heavy kisses. wishes are our hymnals. barefoot children in the rain. tulips in the yard. conversations held in midnight drives under city street lights. sticks breaking apart underfoot. eucalyptus and birds of paradise grow on the back porch. butterscotch candy on the tongue. smoke from autumn’s fires in the air. 

but there is heartbreak here. running her dreamy pulse through the water. we tell our secrets to everyone but those who matter most. an uncontrollable inclination towards the erratic. weeping words in an empty bed. hands cupped together. orange rind aftertaste. pricked fingers. aching legs from chasing tired circles around each other. we can’t tolerate the probabilities we create in our own heads. unknown figures. loss of control. spotty vision. pains for what was. not able to understand. refusing to reciprocate. at twilight we tend to our separate gardens, raking the starved soil empty to avoid telling lovers how we really feel. sunburned skin. chipped paint. something’s burning but we can’t find it. our hearts are enlarged and ache with each thrilling beat in exhausted chests.

i’ll keep the backgate open. just in case. whispered promises under breath. gray covering every inch of vibrance. catching sunsets through our fingertips. space opening up. running on a half-hopes. surrendering at noon. reminiscing on who we were then. emptied cupboards. stagnant tongues. clippings pasted in notebooks. something never finished. the boxes are unpacked. caught throat. spinning heads. we are just trying to make it to tomorrow. goosebumps. we are suspended in the moments we remember. holding on too long. keeping busy. a way we have conditioned ourselves to be.