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Kiss tingle whizz fizz
Fireworks shooting hot stars
Lots of 'oohs' and 'aaahs'!
My heart falls out of my chest with a splatter
SPLURT gush mush
Crushed berry blood
Now pooling at your feet.

Now I have sicked up my heart
It is nothing to do with me
And you must clean it up.

Transplant what has burst into your own chest,
Cavity spattered, a gory work of art.
This is yours, this ******, awful mess.
Wrote this aaaaaages ago, last year in fact. It's horrible, I know, but a bit different to my usual stuff, so I thought I'd chuck it out there!
I am making you toast.
White bread, thick and moist, crisps and darkens,
A smell of crumbs and comfort
wafts around the room.
The butter curls about the knife
Soft and oily, there is some on my finger
And I lick it off.
The toast is ready, it jumps from the toaster,
And I start to spread, butter sinking in with a satisfied sigh.
And here you are, with your arms around my waist,
Your warm breath in my ear, trying to steal a piece too early.
I catch your fingers in my oily own
And you put them to your mouth.
What do you want, hungry mister?
Me or the toast?
I am too much for myself
And everyone else
But I do not care about them, or me,
Only, always, you.

Am I too much for you?

I am in love with you.

See? I am always too much.
I have always been much
more than they can take.

Are you awake?

Where are those words?
Those just-right, perfect words?
These are all too much
And jumbled up.

Do you hear me?
Do you feel me?
Is this too much?

I am in love with you.

That's all that I have,
I cannot make it less,
It is all, it is much, it is more.

It is all.

Oh my love,
I am writing, wanting, writing...waiting,

I want to write something magical
To spirit you away, to carry you to me, and into my arms.

Something that is too much,
That is more, much more
than they could take,
Too much for me, too much for them,

And just enough for you.
I write of a feeling unknown and unnamed.
It eludes me, it flies away and hides,
Resists examination.
It is huge, it is all, it is everything.
A swelling scream,
A realised dream,
Warping the edges of reality.
Conventions crumble,
Analysis defied,
Ah, what to do?
It is bigger than the universe
And has no name.
Been working on this one for a while. Sometimes a feeling, a mood, cannot be named or categorised, there is no word for it in our language.
Her pale flesh pinkens
and twitches so prettily
Happily chastised
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