spine

it gets caught in my throat, often.
and in my hips, and in my fists.
when all i want is to lean in to you
to the curve of your neck, to the point of your spine
the words get stuck,
or escape, and dash themselves against your cervical vertebrae.

i've never had this problem.

somedays i think you must know,
or that maybe it was said, and i missed it,
and now you're wondering why i'm still here.
idle thoughts; i don't think you would be afraid to say it twice.
just once, like me.


this is not like me.
this is making me different.
maybe better,
maybe much better.
maybe that's why i can't seem to get the words out.
maybe i'm afraid of being better.

and you call out to all those best parts of me,
whether you know it or not. and i want to answer.
but the words get stuck in my throat,
and you're too light a sleeper for me to whisper them
into the curve of your neck, or the point of your spine.