Days my lover’s name hangs down my father’s neck I don’t want to tell you it is made of rope. Days my mother’s memory swims in my father’s eyes I don’t want to tell you I have my father’s eyes. Days my lover is lying in my arms but there are miles of childhood between us Days we cannot name the fists clenching in our throats the memories cocooning in our stomachs When they flutter into dreams and her shaking wakes me in the heavy pockets of the night I hold her without wondering I know this question doesn’t have an answer that will shape-shift into language So on days our tongues cannot find the words, they find each other Our bodies colliding, trying to climb out of our mouths We spill. We quiver. I taste her tears when we kiss Her teeth pull the screams from my lungs and we collapse Hearts heavy enough to sink a ship or hold it at shore. Days she is both the wilderness of the waves and the softness of the sand. Days I stand at the point where saltwater kisses land Which is to say, days I stand at the brim of her eyes, Days I pick the moon from their sides How she has never had to be full to be full of light How we have never stopped looking at the sky at night Days her hands are shovels at my skin Digging memories that haven’t felt the sun of someone else’s ears in days Days her hands come shaped like someoene else’s and my lungs hold onto my bones until they are her hands again Days I could lie in her arms for days I could listen to the breeze of her fingers humming through my hair shaking all the leaves I could fall asleep and not dream How we both think that a blessing. How we both have backs bent with the weight With the wait Bent trying to pick up the shards and the hands of the clock when they fall apart and our minds are too many memories away from our bodies Our bodies are too brittle, have already become, Know darkness is as loyal a lover as our shadows Know sadness like the backs of too many heads we have watched walk away. How she feels like getting away and finally coming home at the same time. How I can’t tell if love is the most lonely thing or the opposite of it. Days my father locks me in a room inside my head. He is watching me from the door and it is the only way out. Days I can’t get out. Of my bed Of my body Of the days that play on repeat How there is a silence in this sadness and its voice is his. Days I think about her to breathe room inside my chest Days my chest is a crumpled piece of paper thrown into the trashcan of my confidence with poems she’ll never read about days the distance grows so large I can’t see her on the other side of my eyes I don’t want to tell you I have my father’s eyes I don’t want to tell you that he has mine.
alfaazkibarsaaat | Days (via alfaazkibarsaaat)
