I\’m No Good At Love


I was going to write you a love poem;
about how my throat tightens, and my lungs restrict every time I see you,
about how the right words just seem to tense around my heart like a boa constrictor,
about how my eyes dart to the floor and my hands get clammy with nervousness,
but I’m no good at those,
I was going to write you a love poem;
like the ones where I tell you how our love is as infinite as the universe,
where I tell you that our union was an ode to the old gods’ like Hades & Persephone,
where I tell you how our souls are as ancient as the collision of the planets that formed the stars we sleep under,
but I’m no good at those.
I was going to write you a love poem;
like the ones where I tell you how every time we touch my soul ignites like it remembers you from a past life,
about how the sound of your laughter opens up the gates of heaven and the sound of your breathy whispers in my ear cause eruptions to form in the most sinful parts of me,
about how your eyes—always searching for the light in people—look at me as if there’s something worth looking at
but I’m no good at those.
I was going to write you a love poem;
where I tell you how I yearn for your hands to caress my body like every time is the last time,
where I straddle you and you tell me how my body is art while you trace my scars and I tear up at the intimacy
like my life is fleeting as we speak and your fingertips race to trace the crevasses that make up my skin as if it was braille.
but I’m no good at those.
I was going to write you a love poem;
where I tell you how the angels would damn themselves for you and the demons would drink holy water in your name
but like I said, I’m no good at those.

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