I’m rounded and warm on the table
a solid bowl for you
in the wake of your flesh leak
I think mostly of your eyes
the outline of the space
between your give and my bite
or the shadow that follows the shape of you
when you’re facing me
now I am out and over with a spoon
ready to be slapped or served to you

I traveled through your clothing
digging through threads and fabrics
to try to taste your wound
thirsty and wide in your pocket
I dreamt about the space between skin and eyes
or the outline of the bones of you
you were the heavy wet part on me
you were the length of time around my body
you were dripping pointy pieces
you were hard to dry

I hear you closer now, solidly
more honestly now
you were ringing in my ear
now I’ve come back down
and here you are an ocean near me
you’re full and you’re the reprise
that I missed both times before
I am fuller too
in the wake of your other face
I am honest too

I wasn’t listening at first
but now I’m tied and knotted
solid around you
I’m not pained by what we both need to learn
I’m the longer version
moving in and out
with all of your fibers
ready to touch your center and wrap up in the length
then round out again for you

I’m not going to lie or make up a story
about what we both wish were different
I’ll be whatever I can be
if you are open for my give
I’ll be lined and separate
I’ll be full circle
if you want
I’ll be careful
I’ll be fluid
I’ll be chorus for you.

*I’m writing a love poem every Friday in February. This is the third one.