It’s taking a lot longer to get better

there was only hunger around her, like she was a cliffedge, like vertigo was on her leash. there is the tide, and where it comes in, and how burying hands in her hair feels inevitable, relentless. the minute you touch her, it all seems to pull in, and in, the empty beach before a tidal wave, the magic of a girl whose smile you would kill for, the magic of a girl’s jaw, tilting up, that half-surprised grin, leaning into you, and the sound at the back of her throat, and her warmth, and how, no matter how many times you kiss her, it feels like this, like falling out of a plane, like an overheated engine, like a cup you can’t reach the bottom of, that unsatable need that devours, that yearns for more, and more, and more, so that even when you are full of her, and she is all, when it is your lips and your teeth and your palms are flush with each other - still that hunger, that expansion, that need of her, over and over and over - just as you think maybe, maybe, you’ve come to the horizon and tied it around your pinky, she laughs or she turns or the sun hits her sleeping face, and you know: this is chasing the end of a rainbow. and god. how good it feels, this love of her. your girl of gold.