Yours

Yours is the first skin
I touched in hopes of holding on.

Yours are the first lips
I kissed under bed covers,
stars, and disarray.

Yours are the first hands
I held in fear of where they'd go
had they strayed.

Yours are the first eyes
 to tell me 100 different things
 in a second and a half
without ever uttering a word.

Yours are the first eyes to know
what I feel like while unclothed.

Yours are the first hands
I let go of in wonder
of where they'd go.

Yours is the one and only body
mine still feels and misses
in the most selfish way.
In front of the fridge,
By the dishwasher.
On the couches.
On the street.
In the drive.
In the grass.
Your room.
Never in mine.
By the fireplace.
And by the bonfire.
And on the trampoline.
And on the railroad tracks.
On the bench by the pond, the lake.

Yours are the first fingers
to graze my bare thighs.

Yours are the first legs
to tangle and wrap around
mine.

Yours is the only presence
which ruins me in its absence.

Yours is the only voice
I keep voicemails of in
spite of knowing you'll
never call again. Because
You'll never call again.

Yours is the last thing
I fear I'll be again.

Yours is the face I see
in the best and worst
of my dreams.

Yours is the name
I would scream
in January, when October
I couldn't beat.


Yours is the number I
text but for which I
never can hit send.


Yours is the breaking
for which I always bend.

- Yours