words for him

It's 12:13AM and I don't know how to speak anymore.

I make my wishes at 11:12 because the rush has died down and maybe God can hear me a little better.
 And I know God doesn't just stop listening after 11:11.

How did we get here?

On the fine line between the atmosphere and New York City, 

our toes nudging rocks out over a dark cliff that looks dangerous 

but pushes adrenaline into every artery.

Our hands are linked without even oxygen to flow between them
but it doesn't feel like suffocating.

I remember that night in the tan seats, under a February sky 

that tasted like summer and smelled like Mexican food 

and I was the only girl in a room of senior boys and football jackets 

and I heard your craving for adventures from under the fluorescent lights, 

but I kept singing in my head that I wasn't allowed to give you any.

The next day you stretched across the Trax seats with a camera and clear eyes

so I breathed Drake and John Mayer and took a seat as close to your hand as I could.

You say I slipped you the key to your subconscious, but I only told you where to find it.

The color of the stars did the rest.

We talk about him and her so we don't overuse the term 'I' because it's never about 'I' when it's you.

Me: "Do you want me to be the boss?"

You: "I just want you to pick the next movie."

We talked about Amsterdam, singing about New York, and who made the sculptures in Rome? What's the copyright on those things?

You see all the things I don't, scribbling words in my right ear,

filling dark holes with whispers about the world.

I have a maze streaming through my brain 

and you're the only one who knows the route like it was yours all along.

And arms fit perfectly around bodies 

and fingers are fingers so they can lock together.

Everything was defined by affection until I met you.

Hands don't just feel good, they mean well. 

Someday you'll say whatever kisses can't,

but for now, warm lips and dark lashes aren't feel-goods

They're the swirling nightmares that keep turning into dreams.

Today I asked you if people in Iraq fall in love.

You said yes but you made me cry because I loved love and you didn't know that, did you?

You'll never run out of mysteries for me,

So take off your Nikes and let's pull pen and paper from an art closet,

and coat it with all the things we pinky-swore on, so you can show me what laugh lines are,

so Time can drink up all the stars God dropped on us when it says so.

You're going to die when you leave,

and you're going to kill me when you do.

But God didn't show us the stars for nothing.

You once said I miss you is the easiest thing to say,

but it gets harder every time because I can't find better words 

to make you realize how much I mean it.

I asked you if animals fall in love and you told me about mama bears and cubs.

And then you said the stars come out at 8:36pm and I didn't look but I believe you.

I'm listening to Fix You by Coldplay but only because it came after Swallowed in the Sea.

You say stars are granted wishes and God hangs them by night.

And when our fingers lace together, the world makes sense and I don't want that to change, either.