we weren't even close to fairy tales. but
your hands clasped in mine felt like satiny silk
on a wedding dress made for
this warmth that pricks my heart full of
blood and oxygen that tastes of you
in the back of my throat, tastes of salt
and the tentative blackberry jam of your lips
so soft i imagined i was pressing my mouth to a bumblebee
like i call you when i call you and my voice is staticky through a stereo so different
from the chemical scent filling the room from the markers we left open on the floor from the december-suited nutmeg
scent of your hair that i press into my beating chest
smiling to split the world
and my heart because
we are made of fairy tales.
Comments
Love that first line!
So visceral... you're able to tell the story of this relationship not by toying around with emotions themselves but by employing vivid descriptions of more concrete qualities: the heady scent and touch and taste associated with this love. It leaves the reader in a delicately perfumed headspace. Lovely.
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