The History Channel is Becoming Our History

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you make me want to write.
our words intertwined and reclined here,
making peace with the suddenness of
the world. the entire world which, we know,
will see in time.
under that summer moon which
pushed us back, back into a place
where we held our tongues
where we bit back the emotion of
feeling only air beneath our sheets.
the way you held me close
reminded me of somersaulting through
the wet grass at willow creek park
10 o' clock at night and still our colors hadn't faded
your skin is the compass of my heartbeat.
your eyelashes are the radio static of my pulse.
you make me want to think.
the highways and tunnels of my tired brain
lighting up at the thought of
the plans we made
as our bodies crossed last saturday
seeing my future with you in it
and telling you that you are in it
and having you agree
makes death seem like a thing of the past.
it grew darker and darker.
your nearness makes such a fantastic
noise in my brain.
a symphony.
a cacophony.
the jewel tones of our reunion.
my gravedigger, my philosopher.
selfishly, i take the best of you and
make it into us.
and hours later, i'm just as frozen as ever.
we mold and meld and melt.
spinning through the fluctuations of light
and the warps of the clock
oh!
how we wish for a time less full.
the edges of the mess we created
are becoming cleaner by the day.
i know your thoughts.
i can see rebirth when you see me.
i can feel the wavering rhythm of
your blood
the tiny tensings of your skin,
your cotton shirt smooth on my cheek.
every tear i've cried on you has only been
for you and
for us. i wish i could adequately say
exactly what this means. i wish i
had a picture to complement my
heart. i wish together we could lose the world.
the sharp triangles of your arms are safer than the strongest walls.
you make me want to feel.





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