storia d’amore-cox

Photo by Bruce Weber

Rubbing soft words like sunscreen into your skin. Rubbing my name into your knuckles, onto your shoulders, the dip in your neck, stretching your skin I find extra holes to hide things in. I pour promises into every crevice until they fill and spill onto the floor, but there’s room for more, and I am kneading space into your elbows, your open palm (You’re staying calmer than I expected) lining the walls of your pores with memories and wishes, things dismissed in rushed moments, and breadcrumbs, tiny breadcrumbs in case you ever lose me…
Heather Cox