THE FIRST TIME I SLEPT IN HIS BED
HE ASKED ME IF I LIKED THE SMELL OF LAVENDER
AND SINCE THEN
EVERYTHING THAT CALMS ME HAS BEEN PURPLE.
But if I could name this feeling, I’d call it
the road home is longer than it looks.
I’d call it, plane tickets and loose change
are caught in my throat.
I’d call it, screaming skin and my heart
taming its wilderness in you.

The first time I slept in his bed,
he asked me if I liked the smell of lavender.

Well,
I do now.

And if I could name this feeling, I’d call it
memories of my week with you.
I’d call it, asking the cards ‘what the hell am I supposed to do
with these now?’
I’d call it, there isn’t an answer, only sore lungs
soaking up an aching heart.

The first time I slept in his bed,
he told me the distance between us might be louder
than anything we have to offer.

So I wrote this poem in his sheets
and it isn’t going to silence my skin
or bring my heart back

but it will put my hopes out into the universe that one day
we will wake up to the smell of lavender
in a town we both call home.
— Alessia Di Cesare, The First Time I Slept In His Bed

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