I fell in love with his dancing feet,
the way his arms sculpted the air
around him into intensity.
I was born every night I saw him,
when he set his duffel down on the wooden slats
I fell in love with his eyes, that tight smile
carved into the illusion of ease.
I fell in love with his hair against the light,
with the color of his lips
through water, breath, sweat.
I fell in love at an age when love is not love
but something to be defended.
I fell in love when I wasn’t meant to,
with someone who built and broke me,
cradled and threw me, held my gaze
if for the moments
that demanded it.
I fell in love with everything about him,
his backstage laughter, the music
that gave him the ability to move
through air as water,
the smell of his ferocity stitched
I fell in love, and it was as beautiful
as insanity packed into a small auditorium,
the way bandages are packed against wounds
to stop the bleeding.
It was passion loaded with longing
like a gun cocked against the temple,
finger wrapped around the pulsing trigger.
It was raw,
like the first draft of a quivering sentence.
And I could not defend it from myself.
I fell in love for the first time
with a man who never knew
that he danced my wounds into the ocean.
I jumped headfirst
into the lonely spotlit canyon
of his stage, and my broken body
took the shape of music I could not understand.
I fell in love with everything about him
except myself. If I had been less afraid
to shatter our illusion of ease,
perhaps my love would have softened.
But I fell in love and I kept falling,
watched his dancing feet
his scent grow fainter,
the air around him
intensify into nothing more
- The image was sourced from The Curious Brain via tineye.com