Hold my hand, my sweet honey.
Tell me we will sit here until dawn
breaks 6AM. Even better, let me
rest my head here—counting each echoing
beat inside your chest. Beautiful music
to my amateur ears. It sounds like a proclamation
of a true kiss, more than shocks between flesh.
 
The heat radiating from your body, burning a little
more than expected, is perfect enough. It is
enough to keep arms steady, holding out for
something. Everyone who has seen us tonight has
told us we look great together. It makes me feel
great—every time, it becomes a little more real
to me. It grows into something I can begin to understand:
 
why you sometimes forgot to give me flowers after
leaving the room. The door was broken, but it was
alright in light of our shattered windows. I still look again.
Why I woke up to my bedroom instead of sunshine.
Why we sat looking at each other in different rooms,
wondering when we should finally meet again.
 
It is so real now that I become unsure if I want it.
There are days I speak myself into circles—pacing
back and forth between breaking rose petals and
humming along with my sister’s old radio. It stopped
working well years ago, but I insist on listening to its
grainy audio after struggling to find a good channel.
 
I grow tired eventually so I’ll just sit there in our love
seat. Looking through our cracked windows and reminding
myself to get better curtains for the hundredth time. I won’t
even try to occupy myself now. I’ll just listen for your car.
The creaking from your old Honda I said I would replace two
of your birthdays ago. An hour might pass, or maybe a day,
but somehow, I always am awake by the time you burst in.
 
Sometimes, I’ll stand. Sometimes, we’ll just stare. Sometimes,
we just pretend like the day just started. We’ll say nothing.
Sort of like this moment. Sitting here waiting for a new sun.
My head moves onto your shoulder. We share this together.
Silently counting different constellations and knowing we will
not make it through the night, but we can’t let go of each other’s hands.