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Tags: love, poem

As the year turns over
and some things are put to rest,
I made a list just for you.

You always did love the things that
were just ours to hold,
beautiful vignettes that lit your eyes,
dark scenes that clipped your heart.

I'd list last new year's eve,
your finger hushing my lip before saying what can't
ever be taken back.

"Let's keep this simple and just
enjoy this lovely arrangement."

I never remained simple
in your warm proximity,
I lost myself in your details,
your soft strands like silken strings
against the clear and cold moonlight,
winter bringing out your skin's fair hue.

How your hand squeezed, just once,
as if to say you also know
the clock, continuous, counted down
something more important to me
than a flux of endless numbers.

"Let's not worry so much, dear,
and make the best of this."

Your lips near and part
and I only taste sweet wine,
the friction of hands through my hair,
rainbows exploding in the midnight sky,
each concussive boom muffling
the way my heart beat,
where it hurt the most.

As the year turned over
and some things were put to rest,
I made a list of what to tell you.

While some were expected sweet nothings,
some were too painful to keep holding alone,
some invoked your true longings,
no matter what denial was pledged,
even if they made you ache for me.

I'd list the spring and summer months
when I could never say the right words,
where we fled too slowly to notice the
strings between us unlacing.

"Let's keep this safe and just
know we'll find our way back."

The safety in those words,
in the proximity of arms cradling me,
all I listened to beyond there was
the thunder inside your chest calming
from the storms, we coaxed earlier.

I'd lose myself in those details,
never the punctures before or after,
never the distance contradicting such
beautiful eyes in the summer mist.

How you clasped around me in ways
that promised more than just
skin wishing to claim, to keep me,
and the clock, continuous, ticked along
the edges of something far more potent
than a flux of knowing bodies.

"Let's not make too much of this, dear,
and put on a proper smile
before we join all of our friends,
give me a kiss before we step inside."

Your lips meet, and depart and
an echo of sweet wine lingers
as if your taste decided to
tune itself to my bloodstream.

Rainbows explode across
the warm summer sky,
each vibrant concussion
muffled how my heart beat,
where it hurt the most.

As the year turned towards
the final few seasons,
I made a list of what to confess.

What seemingly incurable loneliness
broke open and perhaps
expected too much from you,
what rage overwhelms when
seeing another's strong hand
placed on the small of your back

As you strolled together,
as if that small curve was
a fragile, brilliant gem
touched for the very first time,
or, to be cruel, perhaps it was
reminiscent of a primal creature,
crude hands too ignorant to know
the exquisite angles of true beauty.

I'll list the winter months
where I do my best to hold on,
where this recreation through ink
only excavates around you,
only unearths emblems and glyphs,
deliberately complicated symbols,
always beautifully oblique.

"Let's keep this secret and
always look back fondly
at what spun from our hands."

Your numb fingers stole into my coat,
the words barely fled from your lips,
and you're already seeking my warmth,
shielding one another from December.

I'd lose myself in the details,
your frame hugging tighter,
that was always your signal
to stay for another night,
to hold you as we become perfect
curves spooning, breathing together.

And I recited the list that
I wrote down and memorized,
even then, the words were wrong,
there are no accurate ones to speak
about what really leaves from
and lies on the heart,
where it hurt the most.

You heard more in the pauses,
consonants, syllables, and vows
were just a safe net to
pluck our secrets from,
to fold and put them to rest
as the year turned over.

"Let's keep this all to ourselves,
all the moments you'll wish
to twist and disavow,
that list is just for us, love."

I'll list the final pull,
the strange alignments that
always bring me back to you,
the beautiful and dark sheen
draped over what we were,
over how you folded into my heart.

Where it hurts the most.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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