In the Year of our Love

In summer I am fire.

I am passion.

And pain.

And the feel of your fingertips on the crown of my head.

I breathe into you—out of you—

Until your breath becomes mine and mine yours.

Our heartbeats in sync,

Our bodies, a mess of heat and flesh.

We are fire. We are passion. We are pain.

We are fall.

We are falling

Deeper into the rhythms of each other,

Like leaves on the ground.

Your pain becomes my pain, my pain yours.

We are living.

We are dying.

We are wrapped up in ephemeral ecstasy, having orgasmic thoughts about love. And lust. And us.

And when winter comes

the embers of our fire slowly cool.

Our hearts are placated, minds at rest.

We hold onto what’s left of the mess we made.

They’re cold, these souls of ours.

Cold and broken, aching to be pieced back together.

Our minds whisper cruel words to each other and we gently quiet them at night with our bodies.

In the morning, you are gone but

I can taste your memories on my lips,

Feel your breath on the hairs of my neck.

I feel your kiss in the wind—slow and lingering.

I hear your voice when the birds sing,

Telling me to let go.

In spring, my love, I am longing.

Regret.

I am you.

​Artwork:Unknown