April

your words wrap around this body like the phone cord that connects us every once and a while, but hey we knew what we were walking into. but i don't lay down beside you thinking i'm comfortable, i don't lay down into your stomach knowing this is as far as i will get. i don't and i don't. so my mouth runs too quick for you to regret the night we camped out; we were scared of the howls that would richochet into our ears like the words we spoke of so closely to one another, though we found comfort underneath the dark, burning strip of stars. and you see cracks in the mold you plaqued me in, i feel them, i do. the plaster smacks your face; i forget i'm spitting out adhesive you've thrown together just for me. i don't blame your resistance to catch a case of breakage. i don't, i don't. and i understand your words of wisdom, though i won't give up. i won't, i won't. but i lay down beside you thinking i direct this effectively, i lay down into your body knowing i love you. i don't, but i do.