by Victoria Tan
Sometimes it’s like the law was meant for me,
writing prose and poetry
on legal pads,illegally
making the rules up as I go.
But who would’ve known where I would’ve gone
if you hadn’t seen me with my purple dress,
this purple mess,
you loved, you did confess.
And so it goes, I bring you home.
Your scars were there, my heart was bare
and all that was left
was to grow.
To know
the stubble on my neck
one moment’s breath,
the warmth of a chest
and all the rest.
Sometimes,as we drift to sleep,
I listen for your heartbeat
to know you are beside me
making the rules up as we go.
