Featured in the 2014 Fall Issue of Rambunctious
Crawl Jack Radford, '16 I woke this morning with my hair as awry as the magnolia tree outside your window and I missed the sweet smell of flowers that drifted tantalizingly in through the screen and tickled my nose like the softness of your lips oh god how I miss your lips, you were the best kiss I ever had, your lips moved like a guitar pick on perfectly tuned strings, and it was never too wet or too dry, and your tongue traced a map around the backs of my teeth and left me with the sour taste of lust in my throat I miss the way your hands would glide slowly, carefully to find dimples in my back I didn't know existed and I'd shiver when you kissed my neck, but not because it bothered me, but because it reminded me I was human once again I used to fake my fear of thunderstorms just so you'd hold me, just so I could feel your warmth sink into my skin and settle among my bones I used to cry a lot when you acted cold because you were the only warmth I knew, you were like my sun and I couldn't live without you but I did I used to cry a lot, but I cry a lot more now, and I hide under the bed during thunderstorms as the whip cracks from above shaking the house I can't even call my own and now I shiver when the wind sweeps across my neck, but not because I love it, but because I fear it and when hands other than my own touch my skin I feel my heart pulse 3 times faster until it realizes they are not yours. the smell of flowers makes me want to vomit & I haven't kissed in a long time, my lips are dry, milky, cracked, they are waiting for you to bring them back to life, crawling on singed and charred feet, crawling back to you everything will always crawl back to you.