Shiver

My friend, look at me.
I feel brave enough to say,
out loud to you and to a world of strangers,
that I found more than just peace
in the seconds I used to pass in your presence.
Friendship wasn’t all I saw when I looked at you.
what I saw when I looked at you
were the five things in your eyes that excited me,
the ways that your stare made me shiver.
when I looked at you
our eyes met and my world was jolted a little
by way of consequence.
I call our time together providence,
you may call it what you like.
When I looked at you I saw
your eyes,
those eyes.
I saw so much
in those eyes,
your eyes.

The very first time my eyes ventured to find yours
I thought,
Daym…
I like the way you look,
the way you view.
I imagined your root-like irises
stretching to touch that cholesterol hula-hoop
that pens them in- the colour of wood.
-Of warm wood,
-like cedar-meets-Walnut warm wood,
with a wood-fire gaze.
Do you remember when you would thaw me with that hearth?
Your blaze refreshed me.
It felt like the glacier enclosing my spirit
dared to kiss a flame
and instead of dying,
transformed into a puddle of peace.
So puddle and flame would sit for hours,
side by side
and our hidden heart’s desires would pepper the night
like stars,
never touching
for fear that we would amount to little more
than a steam-trail rising against a burnt sky.
The embers in your eyes delighted me
and I found home in that familiar flicker of your face,
the one that invited me
to be all of me
with you.
Whenever life chilled,
I knew that I could always return
to you,
my fireplace.

Eventually I noticed that you were like the weather.
you began to look at me in a way
that made hurricanes germinate between us.
In my memory of that squall,
you were the wind
and I, the rain.
I wanted only to fall through you, but you blew me away
choosing hail instead.
Those stones could not be blown
so they tore holes instead.
She, the hail,
you, the tattered wind.
The destruction looked beautiful to me,
so I fell through a breeze instead.
A gentle breath of air that loved me for a drizzle.
In my attempt to love him for a wind, I flooded him.
He the breeze,
I, the fickle rain.
your gale found me shivering as
I felt your tempest absorb me
and thought,
if bad weather could be beautiful,
I need only return your gaze to understand why.
My raindrops yearned for a blizzard to form that beauty of a storm with
and your hurricane gaze enthralled me,
crawled beneath my skin.
So I thought,
you could be my monsoon
and I, your deluge.
I fell in love with a tornado,
not yet having learned that swirling clouds are something to run away from.
I trusted you,
my perfect storm.

I found a voyage in your regard;
a curious glint-of-a-ship
in your eye,
traversing across seas of knowledge.
Vessel-you challenged the billows,
dropped anchor in the most violent swells
and drank-
never satiated by the thirst-inducing waves.
Your boldness was fascinating.
It seemed to me that this ocean of truths
revealed to you its secrets,
transfixed- as I was-
by your maverick pupils.
With every blink,
a gust of wind puffed out your eager sails
in search of the next thing that you might find interesting.
I found you interesting.
So, my vessel challenged yours until
yours became a part of who I wanted to be.
I loved the explorer in you.
Some days you kept me from drifting, so
I put my faith
in you,
my anchor.

At your touch, I thought,
inhale me.
Breathe me in.
Make me crave you and I’ll be back
before you’ve doubled back
to ask me back.
I closed my eyes
and shivered.
It felt like an explosion;
heating our skin,
clawing its way in,
compensating for something.
Lack of love?
maybe,
but I remember the way I fit into the space
between your arm and your side
perfectly.
I remember tracing
your lips
with my teeth
and your teeth
with my tongue
and how your lips gently closed around the tip of my thumb.
It tasted like Dom Pedro.
I remember everything.
If we had been flavours,
you were the sugar and I, the spice;
because your kiss tasted sweet and mine was rough,
because you wanted me,
had acquired a taste for me,
but only so much,
because as much as I desired you,
you posed a threat to my pre-diabetic love.
Sugar, you made me shiver,
charged me with eyes like forgotten-gold dropped in a jaded river,
pulled me into your whisper and advised me not to fall for you,
but held me like I was made for you anyway.
Any day, we could’ve lost it.
You told me not to think about it as your kiss enveloped my fingertips
and then, In little more than a look said,
this is all I want from you.
I’ve never felt so cold.
I couldn’t have imagined such cruelty
from you,
my heartbreak.

So, look at me
my friend and fireplace,
my perfect storm,
my anchor,
my love and heartbreak.
Give me one last look at that fifth thing
the one I can’t bring myself to immortalise here
in this poem,
because then I lose that too.
I’ll look for something of a whisper
of those eyes I once loved.
I’ll search your tangled roots,
until my palms are lathered in scratches,
for that familiar warmth,
but find no dancing embers.
I’ll finally learn to run from swirling clouds,
though I suspect a storm of a man will still wreak havoc in my dreams.
When that happens, I’ll ignore the shivers, and think,
maybe your hurricane was just not right for me,
maybe wind and rain only ever tatter hearts
and flood friendships with pain.
Maybe the only one made to love with a storm-like beauty
is Jesus,
then all unforeseen kisses would be heavenly.
In my searching, I’ll discover that
I should have seen the suffocation coming;
Those tidal-wave eyes needed something to crash into,
to crush and tumble and drown.
tug-boat-me was just in the wrong place at the wrong time-
an accidental casualty of your curiosity.
I’ll decide never to call you anchor again,
then stop searching as it dawns on me
that there isn’t any love left for me to find.
Those eyes will be like foreign orbs.
So I’ll let the memories flood instead:
I wanted to kiss you
I’ll remember, you said.
And so, you did.
The act meant nothing more and not a thing less.
I’ll remember realising when this particular flavour of pain
tasted just like the words of John Greenleaf Whittier:
For all sad words of tongue and pen,
The saddest are these, ‘It might have been’.
I’ll remember loving you only as much as hating you,
and missing you only as much as loathing to be around you.
I’ll remember everything.

Finally, I’ll let it all go, but treasure that fifth thing,
the one I couldn’t bear to immortalise here,
because it has only ever been beautiful
and this is a story of pain.
If reading it hurts you too, know that my motive goes no further than this:
Pain needs to breathe.
My love, I breathe in poetry.

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