i know this man.
Or he knows me, or he wants to.
He speaks to me the only way he knows how,
with fluttering fingertips
and words softer than velvet has ever been,
more delicate than egg shells,
more terrifying than lonely.
Candle flames pour shadow
like inky wings the moon forgot,
and he tears like tissue
the numbing white walls
i built from aching memories.
i know this man,
because i can remember
the love he whispers to me now.
because i spent a summer
drowning in it.
i know this man,
because he lives in the space between sadness.
because i live there too.
because when he moves across me,
shaking moonlight from his skin,
and swallows a desparate sigh,
and remembers he's beneath a girl long dead
and reads the empty in my eyes
and knows nothing is in the breath i breathe down his throat
and somehow, every day, he dies for me
i remember how the darkness spun us both.
i know this man
and i wish i could give him
something
itching to touch the planes of his back
but theres nothing in me to give
and i go
A/N: i've never posted poetry online. Acutally, I've never written fan-poetry. please review, and be gentle, but honest, pretty please.