In the morning I ache for the shape
your body makes in my arms,
as though I were simply a glass
aware of her purpose to be filled
to brimming.
It is summer and the whole thing feels like
beginning again.
We all want to go mad and run outside,
because we know that every inch of our bodies was made to be kissed
by the extensive embrace of light.
I will admit; sometimes it feels like
sorrow
as the rays bend toward afternoon.
We rush to fill our glasses, as the day cools
like fresh bread out of the oven. We rush to fill
our nights.
Watching the stars, I feel as though I am pregnant
with the whole world.
I’d swear you were all my lovers.
There is a splendid parting
that can occur only after we have been
utterly combined.
I wish
to become only more of myself,
which is love, gritty and beautiful.
At times, I don’t think you know
how you have changed my life.
This is why I need to spend my hours writing—
to find the next closest exact way to say it,
in search for that perfect definition that becomes
Love
itself.
