A Poem A Day, Poem #37

there is a hollow house in my chest that jumps and dives,
shouts and whispers, when you tilt your head that way you
do when i am looking too close, trying to reach you with
eyes not hands

there are ships that sink in my gut, drown in delirium,
when your legs are curled under your body or shift
into a crossing thing where the greatest aesthetician
would fear to tread

there are stories swimming in my mind, floating and falling
on every curl you have traced with touching fingers, every
kiss you have cut with ache-splitting lips, and you have ignited
these gray mattered walls into a glassful of dreams
and i will sip this sleep until i'm dead