I know you call her home, but tell me, is she where your hands live or your heart?

Do the constellations littering your irises mirror hers or is it your mouth mirroring the freckles of her skin?

Is it her words that make your skin crawl towards hers or her fingers that raise the feathery down from the back of your neck?

Is she the oxygen that your lungs pull to feed your heart or the adrenaline that pushes it to work in overdrive?

Is she the breath or what makes your breath catch?

Is she the pen on the paper or the words that begged to be released?

Is she the cathedral or the prayer?

The incantation or the spell the words cast?

Is she the sky that holds the light or the stars themselves, always there even when they can’t be seen?

The match that kickstarts the destruction or the already blazing fire?

Is she the caress or the feeling that lingers after it’s over?

The skin or the mind?

The magnetic pull or the place where you stand?

The speed or the lull?

Or is it both?

Is there really any difference to you?

And one last question.

Is it me or am I her?

There's a lot of truth in the phrase

"Keyboard warrior."

When we can't be hit or screamed at,

we say what we want.

There are no consequences.

Or so you thought.

You may hate social media, but

you can't deny that it uncovers the ugliest,

Meanest parts of human nature.

To me, it is

The sex offender radar.

The Nazi finder.

The sociopath.

The next Charles Manson's stream of thought.

Facebook fights help me identify

Who the hell I should stay away from.

I love social media because the keyboard warriors are arrogant, and finding someone's work number is easy.

And I know it’s not really fair of me, but there’s some deep down part of me that hopes that with your face buried in my neck that the only thing you could think was that this was the right one. That nothing else would ever match that feeling of your thumb running across the small of my back. That I had broke you for everyone else. And I know it’s not fair, so I’ll probably never tell you. But I still think it. And I still hope I’m your one and only enough. I still hope you can’t forget your skin on my skin.

Your eyes

smiled into mine

and suddenly

I understood

leaping

catching

melting

trembling

in ways I’d never known;

a certain warmth

spread its fingers

creating the sensation

of melting

which in turn

caused an earthquake

of trembling

from head to toe;

my heart leapt

hoping hopelessly

my breath caught

in my chest

between

the leaping heart

and the reality

of the closed space

of my little world

where your eyes

only smile

happy

to share the moment

a glass of wine

a laugh or two

seeing nothing of the

leaping

catching

melting

trembling

hoping

praying

one day

we’ll run into each other

at the supermarket or

something

i hope the rain will be pouring

a perfect alibi for my tears

even as the years pass

i will never forget you

as much as i breathe fire

to turn my heart into ash

as much as i grow thorns

to cage my heart inside

still, i am vulnerable and weak

because you will forever be my ghost

please

let it be raining