untitled poem

untitled

September is best spent breaking ice and glass.

Biting my tongue so you won’t have to bite yours.

Cutting myself into pieces small enough for you to chew.

Hoping to god you don’t choke.

Swallowing butterflies and playing cool.

December is best spent hibernating.

Wearing ill fitting jackets.

Mines too big.

Yours too tight.

March is best spent under the moon.

Twirling each other around in empty parking lots.

Ignoring bruising fingers and strained breath.

The black holes of your hands

Pulling me in.

The black mess of your hair

Choking me out.

August is worst spent waiting.

For the bees in my stomach to stop stinging.

For the magnets in your hand 

To flip back

And accept the one’s in mine

For the futile golden wave of September.