I forgot this is how it feels, this mind-numbing obsession, these fractured nerve endings craving something more visceral. I forgot how good it feels to be pushed down, forgotten, remembered, turning my heart with a strangely placed modifier, a syntactic tease. You are glued back together so tightly that nothing visible shines through. If you wear night-vision goggles, you can see certain wavelengths behind your sternum; infrared radiating through hairline cracks in your heart.
Sometimes my mouth is so dry and my skin so sensitive that I have to do math in my head just to prolong it. Your hand is in my hair and I’m reciting the fibonacci sequence to myself, trying not to think about the juncture of our bodies, heat transfer, liquid between my thighs.
I’m so dirty inside. I’m reading your track marks like a star map. I’m not ready to come up to the surface yet.