That year, it wasn’t just breakfast tea or the sky
over your postcard campus,
it was all the water in the bathroom,
your brand new sweater, me on a spectrum,
my cotton cloth pajamas. Everything was grey,
except of course the things that weren’t,
my hair, your eyes, the rainbow flurry
of emojis transmitted between us.
I got so used to peeling back an old hurt,
I thought pain was just another word for growth.
I thought skin was just another layer of love.
I thought love was a pink heart, an open red mouth.
There is nothing here you haven’t seen before,
haven’t heard from me directly, over the phone,
in a birthday card or text message.
There’s a magnitude of difference between
being on a cloud and being in a cloud.
like all things, it comes down to a single letter:
After I broke up with someone, or someone with me, days would go by, nights, weeks, soon it would be months since I had touched anyone. i would move as little as possible, the air seemed to press on my skin, my breasts like something broken open, un- capped and not covered, the buds floated in the center at the front, if I turned a corner too fast I would almost come. Swollen, walking like someone carrying something filled to the brim, the lip of the liquid rocking, taut, at the edge, at the top– and at times, in the shower, no matter how quickly I washed I’d be over the top in seconds, and then the loneliness, which had felt enormous, would be begin to grow, easily, rapidly, triple, sextuple, dodecatuple, the palm fronds and camellia buds bent double under a campus sky of iron. Later, when the next first kiss would come, it would shock me, the size and power of happiness, and yet it was familiar–lips aching and pulling, hands and feet going numb, I’d be trying not to moan, streaming slowly across the arc of the sky– it was always a return, the face in the dashlight closer and closer, like the approaching earth, until it is all you can see. Each time, I wanted to be coming home to stay. But every time I went from months of hunger to those first kisses, soon there were the last kisses, and I felt I stood outside of life, held back– but no one was holding me, I was waiting, very near the human, my violence uncommitted, I was saving it. Once I stripped and entered the pit I did not want ever to come up out of it.