epilogue to eucharist

pulse

Swift is the way my hips move
as I gravitate toward your space
on the bed,

and it is magnetic--
how I long to lock your rib cage
with mine, and

I want to see each breath you take,
watch as the massive pockets of air
press their faces up & underneath
your clear skin, hair spotted.

You are living somewhere between
my legs, where truly few
have been,

hot and full of one kind of love
or another,
so much that it hurts.

Both you and your ghost seem to draw the blood
from my limbs and hold it somewhere
in the center, and the parts of me

that crave you most---
they are warm and ready
to take you in.

You are the rush from
my thighs to my eyes that screams
like a fire that blazes.

You are the numbness in my toes
as my head lilts backward
onto your pillow,

leaving an imprint you will sleep in later---

you are the one who comes
and stays there