my sunshine,

(forgive this forward spirit of mine in advance. i admit, with a certain reckless abandon, that your arms are a kind of confessional and i am helpless to resist.)

you asked to know my deepest, darkest fears and desires?

(i surrender so easily, fold like american money at the way your smile tilts just so toward mine. my idea of a balanced breakfast is an espresso shot in one hand and the weight of yesterday's cold regret in the other. and it terrifies me—every taut nerve, come to life, singing at how you cradle my name in your mouth—)

alas, i am in possession of none.

(you want me to spit out the words, confess how i trace your name into condensation-kissed mirrors— or how your black-and-blue poetry renders all other sound secondary, washed in the purple of prose— or how though i dance as if nobody’s watching, i would still let you in on an occasional failed triple or two because some falls are just softer with you around—)

and yet, if you truly insist i bare my soul—

(and dear god, how i delight in playing the calculating queen to your tragic hero, and i never wear my glasses because i would rather see you not with my eyes but with my mind, and i say “piss off” and viola says “make me a willow cabin at your gate” and i fear with desperate, choking certainty that they are one and the same on a molecular level—)

you see, ducks scare the living daylights out of me.

(and i twist like a sunflower, my body a cracking whip at the mere suggestion of your voice and it drives me mad how you are what my mind holds dear in the spaces between seconds and i long to pull you close, drink you in until the distance between us spills over into the negatives, defying the laws of physics until the sound of your blinking reverberates within my chest and i will forever be—)

your lunatic, lover, and poet—
aimee