Tiny Room

Stuffed in a tiny room full of harmonious people,

you make your way to me,

and it feels saccharine

to be seen when I don’t have to be,

when you could go on and discard me.

But you lean in, and the magnetic pull between us begins.

It doesn’t feel real, but I push my luck.

The spell spills from your eyes,

washing over me,

at the drop of a hat, starting from the top of my head,

folding as softly as finished laundry.

Our unsaid desires for each other

that we’re savoring on our tongues

tower over us,

two skyscrapers alike, standing at different heights,

praying I look pretty from your point of view.

With no interruption, we converse about nonsense,

speaking in code,

saying things just to fill the space.

In one camera click, in a singular point on our timeline,

and in a memory that fulgurates across my loving thoughts that are shaped like you,

there’s a scene change,

and with no hesitation on my end,

I want you to kiss me in the tiny room.

Replaying all the time

we’ve spent together in my head

because they make me feel like cumulus clouds,

float to the top of the ceiling,

protect my independence, my peace,

and send to Hell my demons.

Being with you feels

like sharing secrets underneath bedsheets, like raw heat,

like knowing you’re going to fall in love,

but patiently waiting for it to seep in,

steeping liked brewed tea,

sipping on a cup of it during a rainstorm.

Replaying the night in my mind

because the dimensional gems in the genuine look on your face,

the wild that is your eyes,

seem to crash into my feelings like a shipwreck,

and I never knew this is where I was meant to be going.

You make your way to me,

and I catch hitches in my breath

in view of the fact that

big things are happening in a tiny room.