Romance 2
I’ll tell you every little thing I’ve ever done. All the light and all the dark and all the things I’ve kept inside, and I’ll let you love me anyway. I’ll count the freckles on your face and realise that in the right light, at the right time of day patterns start to form. That the maps to the stars are written in the constellations there on your face. Ursa Minor… Canis Major… let me bend space with my kisses. Hand me down bedsheets enrobe us in the half light of evening, where words and phrases can be passed across lightyears from your tender mouth to my loving ear. It feels like we are one piece of rope, made of two pieces of twine. Limbs crossed over limbs nestled in the crux of my arm as you’ll lay thousands of evenings more. I wan’t you to tell me every little thing you’ve ever done. Every boy, in every bed, and every mistake you’re bound to make. How you fear you’ll become your mother, and trip over in the same places, seeing all the same faces …
I look at my naked body in a floor length mirror and I’m quite frankly not in love with what I see. “My perfect body” but all I can see are a handful of bad memories. Can I touch me? Can I feel the flesh of the living breathing man who’s standing in the orange glow of the reproduction lamp that you keep on the floor? In this light I look far more mature than I give myself credit for. Despite what the light is telling me it’s cold in this room so I dress and hide away the sight that you ‘just adore.’ You tell me to come and join you, to lie down next to you. So I steel myself and shove all those thoughts that I shouldn’t say deep down. They can’t hurt me if I don’t think them...? I tell you to brace yourself, as I am about to cling to you as tightly as humanly possible. This time I want to get as close to suffocation as I can. The safe word is still ‘Peaches’. I begin hold all the parts of you that I was meant to hold and then -
I’ll mince the garlic while you tend to the greens. ‘Don’t spill any of that wine on the carpet please.’ I like your last name and I want it after mine and I’ll cook for you baby for the rest of time. I’ll take the small fork, I don’t mind how it holds, Go curl up in that slump in the couch where we sit with our creases and folds. I want to see you in our living room, wearing my clothes, drinking our wine and eating our food. I want to see that look that you’ll give me from way down the hall that’ll say “come and join me now, the washing can wait until the morning.” Most of all I want to hear you call my name, I like how it sounds the same as how I hear it in my head. I want you to play music from a speaker that’s connected to your phone and we can dance in the half light of a house we’ll make home. I’ll shuffle my hands from shoulders down to waist, pleased as ever to find such perfect curves made for hands to be placed.
In the morning, cups tea and buttered bits of bread and I’ll think about saying all of the bits of words rattling around in my head. We’ll get dressed not ashamed as we’ve seen it all before as a warm hymn of love radiates through my core.
I look at my naked body in a floor length mirror and I’m quite frankly not in love with what I see. “My perfect body” but all I can see are a handful of bad memories. Can I touch me? Can I feel the flesh of the living breathing man who’s standing in the orange glow of the reproduction lamp that you keep on the floor? In this light I look far more mature than I give myself credit for. Despite what the light is telling me it’s cold in this room so I dress and hide away the sight that you ‘just adore.’ You tell me to come and join you, to lie down next to you. So I steel myself and shove all those thoughts that I shouldn’t say deep down. They can’t hurt me if I don’t think them...? I tell you to brace yourself, as I am about to cling to you as tightly as humanly possible. This time I want to get as close to suffocation as I can. The safe word is still ‘Peaches’. I begin hold all the parts of you that I was meant to hold and then -
I’ll mince the garlic while you tend to the greens. ‘Don’t spill any of that wine on the carpet please.’ I like your last name and I want it after mine and I’ll cook for you baby for the rest of time. I’ll take the small fork, I don’t mind how it holds, Go curl up in that slump in the couch where we sit with our creases and folds. I want to see you in our living room, wearing my clothes, drinking our wine and eating our food. I want to see that look that you’ll give me from way down the hall that’ll say “come and join me now, the washing can wait until the morning.” Most of all I want to hear you call my name, I like how it sounds the same as how I hear it in my head. I want you to play music from a speaker that’s connected to your phone and we can dance in the half light of a house we’ll make home. I’ll shuffle my hands from shoulders down to waist, pleased as ever to find such perfect curves made for hands to be placed.
In the morning, cups tea and buttered bits of bread and I’ll think about saying all of the bits of words rattling around in my head. We’ll get dressed not ashamed as we’ve seen it all before as a warm hymn of love radiates through my core.