After,
I fuss about the towels, the temperature, our clothes. You lay undressed, curious, hands exploring the decoration. I got it for my birthday, I bought this for myself, I got this from you. It feels right, like this, you existing in my space the way I imagined you would. This is better, I think, than scrolling. Than being alone in a darkened room. Than waiting for something to happen while I stare at my window. I don't know what to do with this happiness. I'm careful about loving, letting go in increments: I want a part of me to be untouched if you leave. I want something to rebuild my heart from. A defense mechanism. But I liked watching you redress, watching your dress hug your hips, your waist. I liked the way you held my hand after, during. What I want to say is that I am unlearning fear. I wish we could be closer, somehow. I find it unfair that two people could be within each other but have to part after. If it were up to me, I would want to pass through your body & let the oxygen in my bloodstream meet yours. I'd want the synapses in my brain to receive the electrochemical sparks that were lit by your thoughts. If it were up to me, I'd like to wake up in your ribs, somehow, perhaps part of your heart. I'd like to be warmed by your body the way you did during, after.