A Stupid Love Letter

you are the softest shade of yellow to me;
i wish to pour you out like vanilla cake batter, watch you swathe the world in the blankets of your matter 
so i can see the wholeness of you. 
you are not elemental, 
i know you are complex and i desire to shake hands with every one of your forms. 
i would love to have coffee with you and invite the universe along
and then maybe after you can tell me every bulge or dimple on your body you find unappealing 
and i will sing songs and tell stories to it like a mother to the infant inside
because you are not just a collection of parts, 
you are a collection of stories and souls 
and maybe my good story will cancel out your bad one, 
and when i’m having one of my bad days you can do the same for me.
it’s stupid, but i have this fantasy where we’re lying in the grass, in each other laps,
drinking lemon cokes until it starts raining on us 
so we run to the garage and sit and watch the thunder and the lightning break apart the sky like bread broken at communion
as the rain pours down like the wine,
and i smile at you, 
at your body, your blood
and i feel for the first time, unendingly alive. 

-anna sluder

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