The lover who leans upon the beloved’s response, his love is like the flame that needs oil to live; but the lover who stands on his own feet, is like the lantern of the sun that burns without oil.
I am sick with wanting;
I did not expect this
skin to remember
your touch so vividly.
I fall asleep thinking
about keeping my
holding my heart in
place, keeping my skin
where it is happiest.
I could breathe so much
better underneath you.
You’ll always be my favorite what-if.
Don’t call me more than once, you hear me?
When you do, I’ll hear it ring and I’ll let it go.
Don’t forget to leave a message. Breathe
so the static catches onto your lungs and
makes that silvery rasp I love.
Tell the silence you need me. Tell it you’ll be fine
if I don’t need you back. Tell it you remember
the way I smoked like everyone was watching,
like every kiss was the one before quitting.
Tell it you miss me. Tell it you’re not lying.
Stop when the beep sounds.
You have witchcraft in your lips.