and today, i thought that maybe for being so different in our needs, perhaps we are too much alike.
the chronology of our anger, the geography of our hopes
all the while, our sexuality blooming around us


your cigarette-infused mouth covering mine,
saying things and swallowing my heart like
this cave that i found myself wanting to curl myself into,
and give birth in, or to (one or the other)-

in slow motion i watched your anger come through my door,
pull off my blankets from my legs, demand answers. your anger kissed me in the mouth and continued yelling at me and then

your fingers raged war against my skin, the war everyone thought had ended

but secretly i am glad that this is the war that has come to stay,
not a war between countries but of the regions of our hearts,
for war means peace soon,
in this case perhaps never,
but still it seems so likely
that even in battle i find my wounds worth kingdoms

in the morning i smell the cigarettes in my hair, and i breathe in the smells and sounds of your sweat, the kind of breath that is never satisfied

and i welcome my hunger for you
the space i have lived in
and the space i will crave