Bottomless Pockets

I am a sell out to your love.

I remember me when I hear you,

I can’t escape or pretend that you’re not intertwined with my insanity.

You have me wishing on orphan eyelashes, picking petals off broken flowers,

 gambling coins in wishing wells, conversing with shooting stars.

I have lost count of how many different ways you have found to destroy me.

I’ve always appear to have the ability to learn to pull myself together...just enough,

But there on my skin, I found a leftover kiss of yours…waiting,

I read your messages, your poems, and your letters and cross reference them to the slight rips in me,

honest,

I wonder what your bed feels like when she lays in it.

I remember the days we hid away from our responsibilities,

Long days we spent broke but not broken,

Matching breaths as we fell asleep,

We loved hard,

Our love was absurd,

naive,

and lethal,

it was so damn beautiful,

I knew love when it made me want to do it better!

If I had known that was our last kiss,

I would had tattooed my poetry on to your lips,

So that if you were to lay them on to anyone else they would recognize my presence.

If I had known I would never enter your heart again I would have imperfectly sang

‘I love you’ to you because love is found in that soft hesitation before the confession,

But our love shifted like fall’s falling leaves,

I heard the unhappiness in your voice and denial in mine,

You asked me to love you without saying a word

 and all I could say was take it slow,

Take your time. I’m not there yet…

because once I love

my love is bottomless pockets but because you tried to weigh it’s worth

it wasn’t enough for you…