One day.

When I woke you were sipping on a straw from my spine, drunk and dreaming. In that time I forgot how to sleep so I stayed up and watched your rib cage, hold your lungs, your lungs boast and then cower. I watched you for hours until I couldn’t take it much longer I woke you, I woke you and asked if you knew,
“how many bones are in our bodies”
and then I said
“well, but what I meant was, …I love you.”
(Ignore the questions about the bones; I only wanted to tell you the second part)

That day you assembled me with Rumi and yet, you- not the lover- nor the sage had ever heard of him. That day, I felt a tapping from the inside of my flesh. A Jameson heart covered up with pineapple. You took a straw and drank from my spine. “206 bones” you said were in my body. I pushed my jaw into your collar bone, 412 bones I thought. Now, here, with you I hadn’t expected it.

A deer that had escaped a hunter, caught in the morning that day we first slept in.This is only one small way we are different. You released an irritable sigh. I thought of trains and oceans. I thought I could do something but did nothing besides think. And then I thought about the weekend and how it was mostly beautiful . As you, are- mostly, beautiful. Even when you can’t help but try to unbutton my polished nerves . With your furrowed brow and the dramatics of the season actor. You know, when cornered like this I think we’re competing for sanity and I refuse to loose. When I say these things your only response is to ask if today is the day I am going to take my red shoes and used books home from your house. If today was the day I was leaving you.I always respond with “No” I say, “you’ve assembled me with Rumi and you’ve never even read him”