you.

you had hands.

you had hands of razor blades and leather.

worn down by lighter sparks and shoplifted bracelets, covered in ash, dye, ink, and blood.

you had arms.

you had arms of moon rock, with canyon grooves.

carved in crazed nights and days under fluorescent lights and tears with box cutters or pencil sharpener blades.

lifting them would be like lifting weights. bands and bracelets cover inches and inches. even if barely strong to hold your own figure but oh so perfect for holding mine.

you had lips.

you had lips like vodka.

i could never have enough. you had lips that were like vodka because just enough would make me happy, but too little would leave me lonely and too much would hurt. because i know that our kisses had too much space in between them and if i had too much i would want them too much and i couldn’t have them.

you had eyes.

you had eyes like rose bushes and broken glass.

if i stared i would see such immeasurable beauty that i would be left staring until you turned away. but when i looked long enough, if i gazed so intensely like you told me not to time after time, i would see the deep, deep pain hidden in the thorns under blooms of that bush. i could see the blood and skin left shredded on that glass.

you had a figure.

a figure like that of a tree.

curves where curves belonged, branches where branches belonged. gnarls in wood and knots in wood exactly where they should be. scorch marks and beauty marks and birth marks are one and the same. you are mother nature’s perfect painting. a poets perfect muse.

and a voice.

a voice like a sun setting behind a mountain range.

i could pay attention from start to finish. i could be graced by every bright rayed sentence you spoke, but they would become short near the end of the conversation, like you knew that our time together was up and you just wanted to appreciate the silence. but i appreciated the sun. i just wish it didn’t leave so soon.