(More freeform poetry. Sorry for the long absence, but yet again, epilepsy rears it’s ugly head and makes it pretty much impossible for me to type.
You can blame my boyfriend, Fisher, for the sudden incursion of lovey-dovey poems.)
I don’t mean
That I want every hour of my days filled with you;
Sometimes I need to remember
What it means to be inside my skin again;
To once again shore up the barrier
Where ‘you’ end and ‘I’ begin.
I need to work through what we’ve done together,
And the way I feel on my own,
Like gently peeling away the skin of an orange,
Leaving it naked and fleshy.
I need to cherish
On my own
The quiet moments we share:
Sweet things you say
That rest in my mouth like candy;
Sudden, hushed secrets in the darkness
Like a map to your heart;
Smiled silences in an otherwise busy conversation
That glitter in the palm like a buried treasure.
What I mean
Is that my heart is always counting down the hours to see you again.
Counting down the hours till
You hold me tight;
Till I hear your snare drum laugh,
And see your crows-feet smile;
The hours till your hand holds mine
And I press my lips against your wrist;
The feel of your hair between my fingertips
And your stubble against my jaw.
Other things, too, I cherish and miss when they’re gone:
How you make me laugh so easily;
The way you surprise me without trying;
And the sound
(like a flower on your tongue)
Of the words ‘I love you’
In your mouth.
That’s what it means
When the words
‘I missed you’
Tumble in a tangle
From my lips:
It means that while my skin needs your absence
My heart always longs for your presence.