I am dissolving like winter

beneath your fingertips.

The weight of your body

settles against my borders

and I am making room

inside of myself for you.

You erect a monument

between my thighs,

a monument held together

entirely by the friction of poetry.

You might as well love me.


You are planting flowers

on my skin with your mouth.

You are burying yourself

in me as if I were a garden

and everything about you

feels like spring.

In the wake of countless deaths

I am made to feel permeable again.

You might as well love me.


We stick together like

summer and the heat

of your body

is making me malleable.

I am folding and refolding

underneath you like a kept promise.

I feel you on the underside of my scars,

overflowing with thunder

and the ghosts in mind

are finally quiet.

You might as well love me.


I am coming apart in your arms

and the lines that separate us

have all been drawn in water.

I can’t distinguish myself.

I keep finding myself in you.

The gravity of your soul

is the only thing 

holding me together.

You might as well love me.


You move like autumn

and I am ricocheting

against you like a scream.

The currents between us

are tearing me apart.

The currents between us

are feeding our hunger.

I won’t let you leave now that

you’re wrapped so tightly.

You might as well love me.