Welcome to my cranium.

My heart is a deck
with vein blue grip tape
and you are the wheels.
The trucks get looser
and looser
and before I know it
I am
swerving
across the white line,
dipping into love
like it’s a bike lane.
I cannot steer
with you
holding my hands.
The sun is a retired drum set
beating
on my shoulders,
your hands
land on my hips
with the sound of cymbals
murmuring.
Our melody is silent
banging,
the sweat
and the blood pressure,
the only remnants
of the music.

You brought me the sunset
early.

The sun crept up my spine
in the dead of night.

Your chest is a shooting star 

on the far side of the moon;
it is my ceiling.

Your face is a beacon
in the fog
and with every movement
of your jaw,
my breath cliff jumps
into my lungs.

But is there anywhere to land?
We could go for miles,
into ourselves.

Your shoulders are boulders
I dream about getting stuck
between,
to clamor down your spine.
The curve of your neck
is a cave I sometimes think
I am falling asleep in,
the sound of my breathing
echoes like sweet nothing,
like nothing.

Your name is a flower
blooming in my mouth,
taking root in my lungs.

I can feel your heart beat
in my finger tips,
a drum roll on the counter.

Your face is in every headline,
at the end of every paragraph,
and before every comma.
How do you sift through my veins
while I am dreaming?

Your lips are paper airplanes landing on the deck of my mouth, close the gates but leave the curtains open. I can be your living room. Let your shoulders give me directions let your hips be specific. Let me turn the knob on your heart beat past thundering to infinity. I will be a highway under you, hot and crackling at midday, do not brake. Take the long way. The dark desert sand will ripple with the same frequency as the words on our tongues shivering, declining pleas to be spoken. The sky will stretch for us and we will float up into the hidden angles. Holding each other in hidden angles.