By Kathryn Smith | @kathryn.smth
each time my palm magnetizes to your jaw,
when the tip of my thumb brushes your ear
and your chin rests against my wrist
and i can feel the pages of your skin turn soft like a well-loved paperback,
it reminds me of how many times i can hear you tell a story
before excitement stops trapping itself in my throat—
and by that i mean
your jaw reminds me of my favorite book—
and by that i mean
the excitement of reading it will never stop.
when your neck folds against my lungs
it reminds me of origami cranes
and writing poetry on the back of receipts.
when your tongue brushes your lips before falling against mine,
i see pomegranate seeds on every taste bud,
can feel their bubbly sweetness bursting in every crevice of my mouth,
and it reminds me of all the time i’ve spent
opening those fruits, wondering
with each labored slice, if it would be worth the work
and loving the taste so much more when i finally got there.
holding your hands reminds me of winter, reminds me
of storms like on the second day we met,
reminds me of snow melting on your eyelids and our fingers
folding together for the very first time.
your heart does not remind me of anything
but anything reminds me of your heart.
like now, when my body is jolted by rhythms of early spring thunder
and it reminds me of how it felt to press my ear to your chest
and hear my brain vibrate
with each palpitation,
or when i’m standing on the green line at noon
because you’re lucky if you can get a seat on the green line,
holding the pole above me for support
as the train batters against each rail like it can’t wait
for the moment it finally escapes
it reminds me of how it feels to hold your pulse in my hand
like it, too, can’t wait to escape.
there are 24 bones in the spinal column
and each one of yours reminds me of a different shade of blue.
Your Entire Beautiful Body
tracing the curves of your body reminds me of home,
reminds me of the high-arching, fast-crashing bends
of waves on nauset beach,
reminds me of the circular dune-hugging pavement
on ocean view drive.
your body reminds me of home like it’s a comfort i told myself i’d never miss
but now that it’s back
i have no idea how i went so long without it.