The Most Ideal of Shapes

Take me to your bed
but don't hesitate to pull back the skin between your sheets
and let me know that I'm the last one.
So lovingly nestled
between the light filtering
through your blinds.
But far and away from the ideal,
I know you are lying away
in a place where the streets are ablaze, the buildings soar
and the sky is a portrait of the ocean.
And when I step inside,
the world becomes a mirror
of crashing waves.
I fall with your tides and wash out to sea.
Heavy like cotton,
yet forever yielding.
Green grass burnt back to black
like those lungs I felt rising
and falling with the tides.
Can teeth be cut on silence?
When all your breathes
pervade my dreams, I rise
without exhaling.
Is that your tongue I feel in my cheek?
I know I am living, I believe in loving.
And I am building a home for you
in my broken heart.
Though tattered and bruised,
you will always be welcome
to make it your own.
But again, the skin gives pause
and I wonder
"Is it worth it to care, to let her inside,
to weather such storms
in our unending sickness?"
But I know you've been here for a year
and I'm not content to let you stay
without at least a kiss.
Let's not live here in silence
but cut our teeth on each other.
I promise your scars will match mine.
So let's sow our hearts together
to weather this storm.
When the tides come home,
I promise we'll make a bed on the shore,
find rest here forever
with our hearts sown together
in the most ideal of shapes.