Her heart burst into the air
Like a zillion shards of red.
Her heart a fashion show
Displaying a jacket wrapped around
it's waist.
I fell in love, my heart following hers
in applause.
I'd never seen a live volcano before.
Not until she opened her mouth
& covered me with her heart.
Her heart a fashion show
Displaying a jacket wrapped around
it's waist & prints of confetti
blown against it's face.
Love but an invitation to our
own private island in the making

Her heart is an apartment.
A building I know well.
Well lit, comfortably nestled in the center of her chest.
Free from rent.
The trouble of pink slips.
Delinquent notices of insecurity.
Broken promises.
Each of our memories kept safe, behind each & every door.
A winding case of stairs.
With us the occupants of every  floor.
Tiny peep holes with welcome mats beneath the door.
It's times like this when I think how big the world really is.
The countless number of steps taken.
Helping each other unpack our bags.
On the outside of each sliding door is a patio.
The stars never seemed so close.
Long uninterrupted stares.
Peering back and forth.
Our belongings all lined up.
A dresser that holds every piece of clothing.
My arms, legs.
All slid into the thought of you.
Her heart is a apartment.
A building I know well.
She loved old things.
Her heart sterdy, each piece of mail addressed with a kiss.
The only knock heard, goes without embarrassment.
We,
The tenants.
spend most of our time visiting ourselves.
Running up and down the stairs.
Moving in was the best decision I ever made

I boarded her heart.
Careful to follow the politics of comfort.
Too much weight on either side & We'll surely panic.
Tumbling down.
Spiraling out of control.
I packed light.
Finding everything I need on board.
I enjoyed my window seat.
Being her passenger.
The pleasantries of flying first class.
The view of a different country.
The tedious flutters of anticipation.
Constantly aroused by the exploration of beating hearts.
Continuing to see ourselves in reflection.
Flying destination after destination.
Going here, going there
Non stop.
If ever we should crash.
I'll live knowing this was the best flight I've known.
Light in heart.
Parachute untouched

She offered me a glass of water from the tap.
Delighted by the fact I happily accepted.
This wasn't like anything I've ever tasted.
I've never had Evian but I'd bottle it the same.
This particular taste wasn't accompanied by anything sour.
A strange taste that makes your face scrunch.
Before I knew it I drunk the glass whole.
Fiji water is an acquired taste.
But all in all I still enjoyed it.
I asked for another glass, feeling each ripple swish around my mouth.
All water doesn't taste the same and this by far.
The best water I ever tasted.
Ice included.
Fogging the outside of the glass.
Fingerprints forever stained.
If I was a fish I'd be in heaven.
The correctness of solely something to become apart of.
The importance that signifies how great this is.
The human tongue is an amazing thing.
Enjoying the spring water that flows directly from the well of your heart

Her heart was but a loaf of bread,
Rather than cut herself in pieces.
She'd give the entirety of her loaf.
Each grain saturated in nothing but generosity.
The pride of giving your all without want for return.
It was this reason that butter knives and knives alike longed for her most.
To ease themselves inside her and melt away into the tenderness that only she knew as whole.
She harvested herself, knowing only the delight of what it's like to give.
Never knowing the emptiness of greed,
Not knowing the pain she'd soon receive

The night has so much to say,
Things that mattered, the ones that hurt,
It's funny how morning turns it all into haze,
Yet resurrected at a single embrace of the dark.