bone

by Yrsa Daley-Ward

Should I touch you, I will suffer and you will suffer and she will suffer. You are a danger zone. I must not enter. I should not enter. But I might.

Loving someone who hates themselves is a special kind of violence. A fight inside the bones. A war within the blood.

Remember on the right night and under the right light any idea can seem like a good one and love love is mostly ill advised but always brave.

I miss you in tiny earthquakes in little underground explosions my soil is a hot disaster Home is burning. You’re a lost thing.

I am the kind of woman who is already teaching my body to miss yours without craving. I am the type of woman who is already teaching my heart to miss yours without failing

I like the lines you use on me they crackle a little, like magic. I cannot pull my mind off you even though I do not trust your hands.

If I’m entirely honest, and you say I must be I want to stay with you all afternoon evening, night and tomorrow pressed into you so tightly that we don’t know whose belly made what sound, whose heart it is that is thumping like that until I don’t know if the sweat on my chest is yours or mine or ours.