Desde viernes, el cuatro de Julio,
Y el domingo
there’s nothing quite like missing someone you barely know
or like the feeling of learning someone new (their voice,
their movements, their smell, their words, their past, their future.)
the unsynchronized and unknown touch of a body you haven’t
memorized yet. the tracing of collarbones, rib bones, leg kisses, slow kisses
on quiet and empty city streets
your grey sweatshirt hangs off of me. my arms hang off of
me. my words fall out of me. my mind rifles through the sentences you’re
spurting. because I know enough not to give in this easily. it’s surreal; all
of the moments feel too good right now. if only you knew how hard i struggle to
connect with anything. and right now i’m trying half as hard as usual and i can
still feel something.
the waitress delivers our mojitos in slow motion. the world
begins again. americans talk behind us. we’re in my
bed and you raise your arm above you. you’re practicing your brain being
stronger than your body. you say you do it when you can’t sleep. you say i have to read your poems. i let you borrow moon palace. i can’t get the door unlocked. maybe you have
to stay. you leave an unfamiliar taste in my mouth and on my skin.
it's been one month and i'm never going to get moon palace back.