for the road

Let the sliding feeling fall through the rest of your clothing and hold your fingernails in place until the stars climb out of the morning and into my bed. Fuck through the Gucci spit balls and light up the Webster’s thesaurus until you have enough words to combine and make some sense.
I’ve paced the floor so many times that your name is carved into the hard wood and the roses that grew up every time I kissed your cheeks in the air created a labyrinth made of thorns and perfume. If you followed it right and hot, you’d find me waiting to lick the love off of your neck and call you mine.
My hands were wrapped around your shoulder blades as I tried to bury myself closer and closer in to your heart. I find the light you shine too blinding for my bare eyes, so I put my sunglasses on when you walk by and slink into the shadows in hope you’ll look at my flickering flames and find me sexy enough to question.
There’s a map drawn beneath the bottom of my drawer of necklaces that has a circle around an x that points to the bottle of wine hidden three weeks before by a band of ever-loving pirates. There was nobody holding on to the pomegranate seeds when you spit them out, so trees have grown all around your hibernation hole, and when you wake, spring will be shady and green and red and luscious and fragrant and I’ll be waiting with a hand and a cigarette for the road.
You’ve created a monster in me, and I love you for it.