Ekki fara frá mig

Last night when we were talking about the weather I saw us sitting together on our front porch looking up at the stars,
                     SILENT


 you were wishing that we weren't as close and I was wishing we were closer.
We rocked back and forth till we swore we were rocket-ships heading right towards the moon.

75 years old and I wish I loved you less.
Our porch creaked reminding me of the time you held me after I had too much to drink and how you kissed me even though I kept hitting you.

Last night when you told me that your favorite temperature was sweater weather all I could think about was keeping you warm with my body and how that was the only reason my favorite temperature was 50 degrees.
Rocking back and forth with you on that rocking chair was as close as we could get to being similar and in-sync, your flannel, 2 buttons missing exposing your chest where your heart once beat at irregular pace, and your hands tracing stories across my legs

I'm obsessed with your hands
and how they hold
way
too
many
secrets.

78 years old and all I can hear is one rocking chair trying to rock me away from the stars because they remind me of how we used to walk your dog and tell jokes,
or how bad it felt to be in love with you, and how good it felt when you finally loved me back.
This cabin is now only full of memories, like the time you spilled tea on the story you finally finished writing and how the words bleed off the page like the time we held each other in the bathtub and just let the water fill the whole house. Memories like the time we got so high we forgot other people existed; I threw your favorite vinyls and you still wanted me to hold you. Memories like when you told me you never loved me as much as you loved her, but the way you made love to me that night was like you had never loved anyone so much.

I'm obsessed with your hands, how the lines never end and how they are so rough but some how so soft and how they move through your hair and write your poems.
I'm obsessed with your hands.

Last night when we talked about the weather I wanted nothing more than me laying in your arms, with your hands open, palms to the sky catching moon rocks just for me.

We were very in love,

Susan Atkins