The Pieces of Men

He was anything but my type,
with his cigarettes and broken bones.
In every way
we were so much the same
it hurt.
With his fascinating mind and desire to expand,
I was quickly enchanted into
his puzzle
of stumbling hands
and intimate eyes.
I dove into the oceans of him
chartered from rooftops
and ending on his island of lights.
I was lost in a galaxy
he introduced.
Spun deeply into the stars
he induced.
He was me
and I was him.
But only
for a breath.
The dress his mother spun
unraveled as quickly
as it
had begun.
Still I was left with the scent
he’d laid at my neck
and the super novas
he birthed in my chest.

The pieces of men
will forever unfold
in my threads.
These moments, even brief,
take hold and create
what will always be

the pieces of me.