Clichés are cliché for a reason. We understand the world in constructs. Love is one, and poetry is another.
~
1.
I met you in spring
When it was flowers all around.
Except we'd never seen flowers
So it was coffee shops
and your kisses that tasted of candy
And we fell in love.
2.
You were blonde in summer.
And I dreamt of stars
inside your eyes
You were my sun
And we revolved around each other
Our bodies aligned
Like jigsaw puzzles
You crumbled.
Ecstatic to my touch
Soft and brittle under my skin.
3.
I got a tattoo of
something you said to me once
there was a chill in the wind
goosebumps on my skin.
I brought my arms closer around to leech off your body heat
You swallowed me in ghost kisses
and kept me warm all the same.
4.
You asked me to draw you
But I couldn't, you see
you were too beautiful
It was in the middle of winter
When you said you loved me.
I was starved, but you were always so warm somehow.
Your smell reminded me of home
and how we would lay awake all night and talk about stars
But you don't laugh anymore, like we did back then
when we were kids
enfolded in each other next to fireplaces
like Christmas gifts.
5.
The snow melted
And your blonde was wearing off.
6.
I dreamt of you, you tried to explain the meaning of poetry, but you were speaking in a language I did not understand. But it was alright. Your hands were warm and my lips were soft, your fingers danced on my thighs. Our smiles never reached our eyes.
I thought I would forget the space between the words but you weren't there when I woke up.
7.
Spring is supposed to be warm
but the heat picks at my skin
and I hate the prickling at my armpits.
Like needles.
8.
It's summer again
but you aren't blonde anymore.
And I don't think our
hands would fit in each other
Your fingers are callused and mine are
immaculate and sinful.
The world is your market-place
where you barter love songs,
and I sleep all day
Under the soft recesses of clouds.
...
Will you write a song about me, sometime?