If we had more hours in the day

If we had more hours in the day,
I would still hurry home with eager lips.
I would not waste my time completing tasks with utmost attention to accuracy.
Instead I would draw your bath to the most delicate temperature, smiling at the thought of your skin, attended by goose bumps, as it exclaimed how warmth was every bit a lover as my hungry hands were.

If we had more hours in the day,
I'd take my time guessing how long God devoted himself to the gaps between your fingers and the curl in your lips, before deciding that perfection was something he had saved until creating you.

If we had more hours in the day,
I'd make sure to look you in the eyes with every word you shared with me; and search your eyes to guess the words your perfect tongue hadn't learned to roll yet.
I'd kiss your lips when words weren't necessary at all, maybe I'd kiss them just because I could.
Because kissing you deserved a day of its own.

If we had more hours in the day,
I'd take an hour to thank the Sun for how it danced across your body, shedding light on all the new places my mouth was to explore.
I'd thank street lights for the eyelash shadows dripping down your cheeks,
reminding me that symmetry existed outside our bodies dancing together.

If we had more hours in the day,
I'd still spend most of it trying to find the courage to tell you all of this.
After all, I'm still only a fool hiding behind words.
But if the day were ever to arrive, I'd make sure to whisper it along your spine and over your shoulder.
They'd take their final resting place above your breast and wait there until the beating of your wanting heart slowly absorbed them...

And now I pray,
If only we had more hours in the day.

Feelings to Words

I start every day here. Looking at this screen and trying to fulfill my purpose of doing what I have effortlessly done over and over again - turn my feelings into words.

But nothing.

For a week I have rolled my tongue around almost-words.

I have these feelings burning a hole in my chest and for the first time, I couldn't name them, I couldn't materialise them into something real. So I wait for them to creek open my door while I wait in the dark and hope that I'll get some sleep even though I can feel their eyes burning into the back of my head.

I say 'them' instead of 'it' because I've seen a number of faces. Anger, hurt, disappointment, frustration. Pain. Pain pain pain pain, the face I won't forget. If only it manifested into something beyond merely conceivable. A limb. Something to carve at and remove.

"Beauty is pain."

But no one knows how long it'll take for the pain to turn beautiful.

I keep on discovering these different sides to people but for once I'd like to not learn my lesson the hard way. I always thought that if I cared enough for someone it would prevent them from hurting me. But I've learned that those are the people who will hurt you the most. So maybe my lesson here is that I've been too careless with my good intentions. I've so easily placed my trust into people I hardly know and people who I honestly and sincerely thought I knew.

I'm still trying to find words to make this prettier. I wanted to write something poetic and fascinating. Something to mirror the person I intended this for. But I have nothing. Nothing but old text messages and a name on a contact list that used to spell out everything I found beautiful in this world.

I want this to turn beautiful. I want to believe that people are growing kinder. I want to name everything that flows through my ant farm-heart and tie it to passing clouds so that I can finally say I'm not weighed down by  feeling too much.

I want time to pass so that I can leave and start over and look back at all of this as only a faded recollection. By then I will have forgotten how you made me feel. You will have the serenity and grace of a memory. And if you are to one day cross my mind, I might smile in naivety at the comfort of a familiar but distant name.