Love Chapters

Smiling faces and stomach races,
going places because his
touch was just right. Pillow bites and
cramped legs, bouncing high, loud
names, sweat for attire on
cold days in his room.
It was so soon and sudden
when he left.

Pounds from fists, slaps from
open hands, marks from
cooking pans that will
never go away. I was his
gymnast- flipped and
landed on his –
because he said to.
Kept the house squeaky and
the speaking to a minimum.
So into him until I became
drained like the
mop I cleaned the floors with.

Fallen rice, white petals in
hair, red carpet assumed
forever. Custom-made lingerie
for the wet moments before bed-
much better than the sourness
of finding hers underneath ours,
me shaking for hours.

Calls much needed, flowers
particularly picked. Love is
sick- this specific coupling
imitates it too well. I smell
l-o-v-e in the meals he
cooks, lock it away in my
poetry book, in the midst of
hurting times, indecent kinds.
The balance of love makes them
kind, takes my mind from a
brokenhearted past to a clash
of desirable beings,
hopes of this being
the end.