A Love Poem To No One (Yet)

tomo tang
tomo tang

I imagine sometimes, you taste a little like whisky.
It might be because so many of the boys before you tasted like whisky.
It would linger on their lips,
I’d kiss them,
kissing Jack too
or Makers.
It became this bizarre comfort.

A strange thing to like,
mouths that taste bittersweet.
All my love,
so bittersweet.

I think of you with long arms,
almost awkwardly long.
I know,
some days, there’s too much of me to reach for.
My anxieties are always running faster than my feet.
It’s not that I’ll plan to leave,
It’s not that I’ll sketch out my escape,
but I chase skeletons out of closets.
I run marathons with my own short-comings,
so I hope with your long arms,
I hope you grab me.
I hope you stop me.
But only to kiss my forehead, or cheek.
And then let me go,
your arms dangling by your side.
Because darling,
I need you to know I am mine
And you are yours.
So trust in me,
let me go.

You’d be goofy,
and kind.
We would watch home videos and you’d make fun of the way I say “horrible.”
I’d realize you aren’t simply trying to cocoon inside of me.
I am not a caterpillar waiting for metamorphosis,
that these butterflies you give me are uncaged,
We are so free together.
Beneath my collarbones,
wings form.
I grab your hand,
you fly right along with me.

I think about us looking at the moon together.
You’d make some witty joke,
Or we’d start doing truly terrible Jimmy Stewart impressions.
“I’ll give you the moon, Mary.”
You’d look up,
but I’d be looking at you.
My luminescent baby,
Glowing like the fireflies I caught in my lungs,
lighting me up when it’s just us.
You’re the signal I didn’t know I’d want.
The lighthouse.
A way out of all the dark.
You’d remind me, “You did that all on your own.”
I’d love you all the more.

My heart is a mosaic of all that came before.
I could show you pieces,
faces that still exist there.
I’m sure yours will too.
We are just products of moments,
of people.
Learning how to get from one day to the next.
I’d say,
“Isn’t it terribly romantic? We carry bits of everyone.”
You’d probably laugh.
I think you’ll laugh.
I think we’ll laugh.

I don’t know.
I don’t know where you are.
Maybe you only exist in my mind.
Maybe I am so in love with you,
this vision.
This projected image I see when I sleep.
Or maybe you’re just the next boy.
And the next.
And the next.
Maybe you are everyone I’ve ever seen.
I don’t know.

I don’t know much of anything.
But I look at the moon and think of you. Thought Catalog Logo Mark


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Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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