Fearing Loss of Valentine

You are the pain of
a new tattoo
you make me
writhe and shake
for your beauty
and by now I should
have a tolerance
but each dance
feels new.

I grip your hair and
spit out praises but I
keep them not so intimate—
"fuck, you're amazing," but not
"I love you."

Gentle snow pours like
God salting a snail like
the fear of you leaving
keeping me
still.

The empty bottle of Arizona
beside my laptop
keeps disappointing me
but you never do, I
am mesmerized by
curly brown bouncing curls
by great green olive eyes
by big beautiful belly
and I cannot stand
the thought of losing contact
with your soft hands
and maybe you'd stay and
grow to love me back.

I'd rather hide my poems,
die salted, drink ice,
slip on frost, than
watch you leave
but I guess that is your choice.