There is something of you coded into me.
I am scared
it might be breakable
like our Friday fortress
(floored).
Uncertain textile parapets put up against
winter reality
bites earlobes,
loose skin on shoulder blades.
You said – this is something else.
(You meant – my hands are rough from holding onto loss).
I am learning to lean into intimacy.
We’re fond of transcending time,
and time again
dreams compel muscles to tense.
Arms are brackets of blissful otherness.
I’d give anything to stay in these heated sheets
and linger longer in
layers of your mind.
Lauren Vevers is a writer & artist. Her work has been published on Hobart, The Cadaverine, Ink Sweat & Tears and Electric Cereal.
Twitter: @LaurenVevers
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