I swear I taste the stars when I kiss you– sharp bursts of light accompanied by the acrid taste of marlboro cigarettes. It’s haunting, really. The weight of you on my shoulders. I feel the ghost of your hands on me long after you have left. And your absence, even, reeks of you. Of the warmth under your skin. Of the curve of your bones. Of the red of your blood. I find you everywhere.
The way the sun gilds a midmorning cloud.
The way maggots weave between the half-rotten corpse of a crow,
The way galaxies crash and collide in grand explosions.
You are everywhere. In my sheets, in the winter winds, clinging to every blade of grass like mildew.
And when you split me open, I pray you leave a piece of you in me. A shard that festers in my mortal sack till it bleeds through my arteries like poison intended to kill. I want your love to feel like a battlefield meant for no survivors. I want to hear my ribs splinter under your hands as they dig for my heart.
I want to taste the stars when I kiss you.