Work Text:
poem i: is this what it's supposed to feel like?
a pattern: falling asleep with my legs weaving through yours like threads of a tapestry. waking up in the middle of the night on opposite sides of the bed, my dreams too vivid and your heat too hot. recalled to sleep until dawn stabs through your blinds and klaxons pierce my ears. stirring drowsily to face another day with you. throwing glances like pennies over my shoulder at your back when i’m cooking, as if your heart isn’t a black box, shrouded by hair and haori. clinging to you like you’re sunshine, like i don’t live in your shadow, like subcutaneous darkness doesn’t bind me like handcuffs, like instead of some alloy of stone and glass i can be sunshine, too.
you say your books and your dishes and the contents of your fridge are mine, too, but rent i don’t pay and rules i don’t make and home i don’t call this.
i don’t know what to make of smirks that bleed into crooked smiles, laughter that can only be real, your fingers brushing mine like the branches of a willow tree, blankets you tuck over me to stop the shivers, dinners you buy me because you know i’ll inhale them - could you do this with everyone? could i? could you trace another’s mind from memory like you can mine? could i map every line of some other soul’s body like i can yours?
tell me what you need, asks the version of you that lives in my head.
i answer, if I can’t leave a mark on you after I’m gone, can I at least have a footnote?