the piano you played for me
their keys light like the sun
in your eyes gently playing me
a song we wrote between shared cups
of tea, picked flowers in the field
shoved into a pocket always big enough to fit
both of our hands.

my life line moves across
your chest
your love line inches towards
my lower back
reading your palms
under the thin covers
summer air blows into our hair
permeating the smell
of grass and warm flowers

we embrace
the unknowable future crushed
between our palms.

I know the lingerie is meant to be taken off, but
my nakedness makes my eyes dart quick and
count every hair on my skin.
picking scabs turns into scars that
I have yet to tell you about.
without permission, I close my eyes
as you love me in the dark and
I wonder if you’re counting too.

I miss my freedom within your absence,
when I stretched between the memories.
Now I'm stuck between the moments,
my eyes tired from believing
your arms were safe for me to sleep in.

dear lover,

          I promise I will stop bringing up his name
over late-night calls, 
cups of bitter coffee,
and my lonely bed.
          I will give you my love
like it is your first glass of water,
your dry, thirsty eyes allow me
to believe in second chances.
          I will never trap you,
pin you down like butterflies in the frame,
for my broken wings know the feeling
of watching your love say goodbye
behind a piece of glass.
          I promise we will make love
without an expiration date tattooed
on our inner thighs.
          I will hold you, despite wondering
if this is the last time your hands
will touch mine.
          I promise I will wear your heart on my sleeve
like a new coat,
putting the scratchy, hand-me-down fabric 
back in the closet.
          I’m sorry if he still makes me cry.
his name still sounds like guns falling
onto the oak tree roots outside of your window.
          I will grow from this.
I’m still waiting for those shots to stop ringing in my ears
when you tell me you love me.
I was just dragged out of a cold war,
my blood is now too warm to clean up
the battlefield he has made of me.
dear lover,
          I promise one day my wounds will heal,
that the only scars you will need to love
are my stretch marks.
          I’m glad you understand
that empty promises are Band-Aids over bones,
they will never heal me.
thank you for holding me as I bleed and cry,
and thank you for letting me speak of him
one last time.
          sincerely,
                    -me