Transitional space

I miss the liminal spaces of you

The skin in the hallow between your collarbones and your neck

The ecotone between your apartment and the world outside where you pressed me against the wall to kiss me

The edge of evening falling in your kitchen as we cooked dinner

I want to touch these places of yours with the softest calloused tips of my fingers

And bite the curve between your back and your ass until it bruises

I miss these spaces where you are not quite one thing or another

Where we exist just outside of everyone else

Are we on our way to becoming? 

As seen through smudgy glasses

The worst part about being alone in your bed

Is that the sheets still remember the shape of you

Pressed against them.

And as the sun creeps higher in the sky I walk into your kitchen 

And the find the coffee you left out for me is still warm

And the space where you were leaning against the counter is cold. 

Don't make promises

 Please stop promising me the world

When we both know you're only going to give me a crumpled road map and call it "close enough".

I didn't ask for you to bring me the moon

But this little gray rock you've handed me as a substitute is frankly insulting.

I didn't need epochs to the rainbows contained with in my eyes

But you didn't even measure the meter in this couplet.