rsvp

[milo]

trying new things, as per usual. let me know if this one does not work (i can't for the life of me tell). poem below...


my aunt writes gorgeous love poetry, and i wish i could do the same so fiercely my skin prickles around 
the want. i wish to write you pretty words with such an intensity the thin tendons of my shoulders pluck 
themselves at the thought of it. what can i offer you in exchange for this warmth? only a recounting: you 
were on me and all in my vision was sunlight. i want to give you beauty; i wish to stamp the fine lines of 
some mundane pretty wordshapes into my fingerprints and trace them on the outline of you, there, and 
there, and there– 

all this to say i do not know how to begin this poem, that i cannot begin until it is upon me, as we 
learned on the floor at 4 in the dim cool morning and again at 11 in the first frost and again at 8 pm on a 
wednesday like any other wednesday. i am no good at verbalizing, so instead i pause, and you wait 
beside me. your patience is astounding, and all i have to give to you, then, is more words (only some of 
them pretty). write our names in the same ink, please, boy, or i will spin; i will lose my unseen fieldcurve 
and the soft dark iron filaments cooperating into the shape of me will split in all directions. the warmth 

is yours, and also it is mine to gift back to you when you will take it, when i have time to give. maybe 
there is no exchange more than the back-pass-and-forth of your cold hands on me and likewise, in the 
other direction. your words come easy and with thought and i find them mesmerizing. try to breathe, 
boy– your time is mine too–

Hello and thank you for posting

First, a lot of this does read like poetic prose (nothing wrong with that) and the very long lines are serving to reinforce that.  There is no rule saying you can't have very long lines but, I can tell you form reading it, it was exhausting and I started skimming.  I made myself go back and read it a couple more times.

It seems like the central message is that you really like this boy - I get it.

I think the first strophe might be entirely a throwaway - something to get you in the mood for writing and now it has served its purpose.
The poetry starts with the details and the images:

on the floor at 4 am
in the dim cool morning
on a wednesday like any other wednesday
write our names in the same ink
i will lose my unseen fieldcurve
soft dark iron filaments

I feel like somewhere in here is your poem

Thanks for posting