is this peace. Banging birthday party and loud lights are nothing next to you. Our private questions and answers. Your lush mouth and voice. This strange silence when the food arrives because I don’t yet know you chew your bites thirty times. The three times I’ve hit the bathroom to nervous-pee and splash this lukewarm water on my face while I can’t look in the mirror. What I want to remember is how you look in Levis. How I hope you will and hope you won’t come out here and smoke with me. Is my breath OK? What I want to remember is this feeling of foreign and home with each skin-brush. Our quiet ride in the back of the car is closer than we have to be. Why do you smell like the ocean? Each tiny arm hair I own at attention. This desire to curl my whole self into a goofy kid and into the crook of your arm to hear each breath and beat.

just when I think it won’t sunrise

Bio: E. L. Blizzard