Write what you know…

But the fingers of what I know
Are not the ones that have curled
So delicately and vice-like
Around the edges of my mind

Instead
It’s the space you don’t take up
In my passenger seat
That’s worth its weight in ink

The unsure and too-anticipated
Meeting of our lips
The elation, then acceptance
Of leaving one prison for another

The feeling and taste
As my thumbs, then tongue
Traverse the surety of your hips
Your now-real gravity, becoming inescapable to me

And it’s in the way your voice might crack
Or maybe with more conviction than I could muster
That I imagine the sound of you
Dissolving the unsaid

Turning over, and over, and over in my mind
Shackled by, tormented by
Each of these things I wish were mine
The inexplicable feeling that I am, unbearably,
Writing what I know