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Carpet in the Sand

This is an original poem that I wrote about three years ago, right after I graduated from high school.

Salty air ruffles tents and our clothes Our friends lay in the sand on these late July nights. We chat and smoke and fall in love with the stars All our paths intertwining with one another’s again.

And my mind thinks of you and wishes  that your’s had never separated from mine.

I become drunk on the song of the waves,  imagining your lips muttering “ What a lovely view.”  

For J

I'm not asking you to love

To be honest I don't know if I could return the feeling 

But if I could ask something of you 

I would ask that you pine after me

That you think about me when you look out over the rolling hills as you drive to work

Or that you can still feel my kisses long after I have left you 

The way I giggled when your nose touched my neck for the first time

That you swear my perfume is still on your clothes no matter how many times they go through the wash

I want you to sit alone and overhear a conversation and remember something that I said and then you laugh to yourself but get embarrassed because the people who see are judging you and really try to transport me there with you 

That sometimes you can feel the ghost of my hand against your palm. 

Then it grows and covers the rest of your skin, like an itch that's odd yet comforting 

You rub your fingers together, wondering if you're going crazy 

And as your day goes by, you notice sexual innuendos in everything, like who many times can a person hears the words " climax" and " erupt" and natural grunts and sighs in an English class and not think about them coming out of my mouth and how good it feels that you're the reason why 

That you sit in your car and think about the excitement and fear and warmth and shivers that wouldn't stop expelling from your body as we dove on the highway and you prayed that I wouldn't notice 

That you pass by people and places and think that you see me or that you can magic me coming around the corner into your arms but you are not that lucky 

That you get jealous whenever you just see a Hispanic woman with another man 

That your fist clenched with bitterness and unshed tears because why can't you have that 

That you think about getting in your car and driving 3 and a half hours to come to my town and you will find me and spend every moment after in my dorm on my twin bed

Singing hymns and love songs into each other's skin

But then you realize that's way out of line and just end up wondering what color my comforter is 

Then you start to look at my Instagram a lot 

An unsettling amount and feel gross doing it but…

There's only like three photos and they're old 

You hope that I'll post anything just to be sure I'm not a figment of your imagination

That you can see me and hear me and feel me

You find my Facebook that hasn't been touched in months 

Other posts with me in them from other peoples accounts from long before you knew me

You wish we'd known each other forever

And sometimes 

In those really early hours of the morning when you can't sleep and feel like the only person in the world 

You dream while you're awake, you let your mind go far

More than you would ever tell anyone 

Things that you would never dare tell anyone, not even me 

But ohhhhh 

You wish you could 

The next spring and summer and autumn and winter all lay at your feet like a Tralfamadorian novel

" No beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love are the depths of the many marvelous moments seen all at once."

It's all as clear as it ever could be 

Laughter, pillow talk, fights, forgiveness, drives, farmers markets, late nights, dive bars, kickbacks, no contact, all day conversations, lust, apocalypses, new days, never-ending light.

Meeting my mother and hoping she’ll like you but I already know it will go bad but you're here to stay and she warms up to you soon 

Ifs, whats, yeses, nos, maybes, thens, nevers, always.

All more and more petrifying yet alluring 

I'm not asking you to love me 

I'm too afraid that it'd scare you off

But I want at least one of these to go through your mind

Because they seem to never leave mine.

Oh, my darling. I know you are not a Cathedral, but you’re no less holy.

- Unused bits from a never-finished book