Celina Adrian

30,248 poems read


I am used to definitions
causes and concerns
but I can't find a box to put this love into

only air can contain it
if there ever was such a thing or need to do so

her bed is her name
and she is used to it being filled with 
the stinch of codependent agenda

I personally only know the sweet smell of freedom

a soft wind knowing how to flow in and out of explanation
but nobody else understands these conversations
like she and I do

just holding her hand
nearly more powerful than when I last made love
to him or her or anyone ever, really

she doesn't really know how to hold my hand tight
but I keep trying to grip on

caressing newness and familiarity
her knowing this mind, this love, this space in time

we can talk about the universe
she gets it

her eyes
her raw beauty
she intrigues me and I am captured here and
even now

maybe even long enough to comfortably fit
into the box
that I generally claim to avoid
and the one that she has never known