In the silence of our embrace,
I hear you whisper your fear.
Your confession is not from your lips,
but it seeps through the lines on your fingers as you trace my spine.
You are holding me tight. tight.
Ask me not to leave with the pounding of your heart,
beating against your chest so hard that
I think it wants to break free and spill out all over mine.
The regret in my hazel eyes tells you
that I have to leave. Your pretty blue eyes darken,
like a window shade being pulled down,
andI see them water before you shut them tight. tight.
I peel myself off of you like a Hello name tag when the convention is over.
I need to pack. You adjust the covers so that you can see me,
watch me fold you up into your red suitcase:
black button-up you bought me for Christmas,
sweater so soft you can't stop touching,
stiletto boots, jean skirt, red lace bra, zip-up hoodie.
You ask me if I think you could fit in there too.
I look up to see if you're joking, but the crack
in your voice and the frown on your trembling lips
reveal that you're not. Reveal the pain you are trying
to tuck under the covers tight. tight.
I whisper my fear, too.
You hear it in my footsteps as I leave.
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