work in progress – not entirely sure how to continue anymore

You placed my hand over

what you call your lopsided chest. You said
“this is it. This is yours”
I swear that day your skin was paper thin
that I could almost feel what was inside your ribcage.
I am climbing those walls, guarded
searching for an entrance

But lover, I can never claim you

When we met for the first time,
I didn’t think much of you. of course, I didn’t.
I only told a friend across the ocean that i am
thinking twice over that boy, the one far away.
I didn’t have your number but I knew you
by the two-syllables that spooned in my tongue
quite nicely. Now I call you by something else,
a shared word between only the both us

Perfect, you’ll say
I’d say: I don’t know but this bloom just keeps growing
and I’m afraid a storm might brew and blow
all the flowers to smithereens. What ifs, right?
It’s always these things that keep me awake,
but I’d pretend not to notice because
what if one day I don’t feel the same.
what if, what if, what if

there is this slow and steady burn

lover, i can’t assure you but it’s there
it’s not a flare, and nothing like fireworks

on New Years.

the dim light is

bright enough, dousing your eyelids
lover, it’s also form and presence,
the cadence of your fingertips
on the plateaus of my arms

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