love you till you're whole

.
 i'm wearing this pendant, small and round and blue,
 you bought it for me at this carnival, and i snuck out to see you,
 and my dad had never been so angry
 and my lips still ache
 from where you kissed me
 and my cheek throbs,
 from his slap.

.
 you told me once that you weren't all that poetic,
 and i told you that sometimes it felt like i had butterflies,
 in my bloodstream and you pressed a kiss to my wrist
 and my neck, as my pulse fluttered wildly, like a dove
 in a gilded cage.

.
 you have, i say, really nice hands,
 and you cup me in them, like i'm a prayer,
 something important and to be blessed,
 and i feel like i'm worth something, that i can
 still be (w)hol(e)y.

.
 and i'm in the backseat of your car and it's
 not all that comfortable, the seat belt buckle
 is digging a cave into my back and the soft
 black material is pressing into me the way
 you do.

 stars blink and shine, reappear and disappear,
 in time to your staccato heartbeat,
 and the world is titled on an axis,
 stuck in permanent contemplation of you.

.
 if i knew how to love you whole again,
 i would.