Bursting Seams
The seams of my skin are bursting.
I’m overstuffed and I am undersewn
and the buttons that connect flesh
to bone to skin to soul are pulling
at their threads, threatening me
with the way they dangle loosely.
I am filled with questions
and questions without answers take up so much more
space.
Who was I before you?
What parts of the man I was leaked through
and will the stains of my past remain
on the skin of my future?
How do you know, and this question has so many
hows and so many knows to relieve the burden
and clear the spaces they consume.
How do you know the directions to my calm?
How does your head on my chest and the sound
of your muted breath while you drift towards sleep
steal the shake and the squeeze and the sorrow
from somewhere hidden inside me?
Do you know how much I love you? Can you feel it and does it have
a flavor or a scent or a familiar texture that you
and only you would always know?
Do I say it enough? Do you believe me when I say
that you are
without hesitation, reservation or hope of reciprocation
the most beautiful thing
that my eyes, tired from searching
have ever rested upon?
Where will we go from here and how long
will it take to get there? Will we be
the we we are waiting to be or will we be
something so much
more?
Why me and what do you see that I cannot see?
Of all of the fish in all of the seas
and all of the birds in all of the trees
why me?
Were all of your wishes on all of your stars
and were all of your prayers to all of your gods
to find what we’ve found,
or to have the courage to hold it when you did?
From what seed, from what plant, from what life
was this love created?
Are we the fire that will keep us warm
through the cold and dark of night
or are we the warmth lent to the fire?
Are we the reason for the flames?
Can you feel me
when my skin is not on your skin
and my eyes are out of sight?
Can you feel the carving slow cutting
of our hearts when our footsteps carry us
further
and not closer?
Can you feel them, recycled and refilled
spilling over with the blood of promise
when we return?
Will you sew me back up
stitched tight and buttoned closed
and before you do will you pull out
the unanswered questions stealing the spaces
my breath and your love and the quiet
longing should occupy?
The seams and the buttons and the stuffing
are waiting for you like
I am waiting for you
and I am straining the seams
and bursting the buttons that fight
to hold soul to skin to bone to flesh.
