All That Matters

the beginning: sands are very cruel and dry things; cemented they are to the cold eyes and snarling mouth of the human that smiles freely. Such kindness doesn’t exist on the tongues that speak brevities and malice, even so…why does it hunger for the taste of love? Why does it search for such sweet waters that only those can see?

                                                                   […the berries you’ve eaten are filled with poisons]


loving you from afar was painful, but holding it in was even worse. And now that we’re together, I will refuse to let go…even if it means that loving you is like a barbed wire while dangling off a cliff, I won’t dare let go.

                                                                   […colors stain your mouth and fingers gracefully]


all that matters is that I love you, and that my selfishness has granted me a compass that has lead to your atlas and your burning fingers; my lips want to kiss every single one of them.

my limbs do not have a map, yet I know where my destination lies—it satellites around your gravity swimming in your existence; I am the bird that flies without knowing where to land, yet I keep singing of a heavenly place.

I want only to melt into solution, and condense into exhalations. Needless to say, being impaled with incisions of bliss isn’t bad at all, just a few scars left.

acceptance: a double edged sword known for theft, I will pierce it through my sternum and drink in its invitation; she will disarrange the molecules she inspires and fashion the wound that protrudes past the spine.

                                                                            [happiness is never free; debt needs to be paid]


would you still love me if you knew that only loving me even more would kill me in the end? Would it be insane to tell you my sanctity whispers that dying by your hands would mean the world to me?

                                                                             [the ending of myself: the beginning again]

my hands, they cannot cup my joy. It fountains out and feathers in my skin like blooming flowers in meadows. Wildly and sporadically, it spores the color red as it stains my mouth and lips. It hungers for flames, a recognized burn it seeks; she has fireflies along her canvas covered in kerosene.

[love, will you leave me?]