Everything I had only seen in dreams
had manifested itself right in front of me
and I touched it.
I dug my fingertips into his flesh like I was caressing piano keys,
hoping to leave my fingerprints embedded in his soul.
I used my nail to carve my name into his lungs,
praying that with every breath he took in,
he unconsciously sang my name
and when he exhaled,
a love story bellowed from somewhere deep within.
Somewhere that had always been inside him
but was begging to be awaken,
so that he could thrive the way God meant him to.
He gave me goose bumps.
And they rose up like braille all across my skin
and wrote a lyric to an undeniable melody.
Like Shakespeare and Sade had collaborated
to write the world’s most enticing love ballad
and they used my heartbeat like an 808.
Together, we could be music.
And my heart would be crooned by
the vibrations in his voice.
His lips would know the words to songs he’s never even heard of
because every verse reminds him of our love.
My eyelashes would be acoustic guitar strings
and when I blinked,
our tune would softly echo in the space around us,
growing louder with time
until the sound was unbearable
and he was incapable of ignoring that
I’m standing right in front of him !
Hollowed,
insides pulsating,
hands shaking,
waiting,
always waiting.
We could harmonize.
A pleasing combination of two being drawn together as one
and I could sample every missing beat of my heart from his
and I would share my breath with him.
I could stop hiding behind metaphors
and lopsided soliloquies backed by
wounded symphonies.
I’d leave lyrics on his lips every time we kissed
because these words
are stapled like a secret to the back of my throat
pleading to said,
no longer wanting to be wait to be heard
and accepted.
And when our voices grew tired of singing,
we could love each other instrumentally,
vocals removed,
bodies speaking on our behalf,
stripping every layer down
until we are raw, uncut versions of ourselves.
