a small pebble from the monolith of my fear has been retched up into the recesses of my throat, and i am sure that in this quiet moment, peaceful between the two of us and all the ways we journey toward each other, you can hear me try to swallow past it.

because i cannot exist simply-- because i cannot be at peace in my own body-- you will leave me eventually. so for now, i stockpile the sensory experiences of your nearness, the feral way you size me up. i tangle myself in your hair, taste the gentle skin under your ear, wrap my legs around your hard hips. i inhale you: warm, dark, cigarettes and the way we are both driven by inchoate need. tongue my terror: these phantoms become realer with your acknowledgement, the pressure of your attention. crash me gentle onto the rocks below this darling cliff, your face and the ghosts that offer to catch me as i fall.

i am not worthy of the love you give me; this does not prevent me from asking for more.