she’s too strong,
she’s too much,
she’s too tough to love.

she’s too hard,
she’s too broken,
she’s not enough.

she’s imperfect,
she’s wild,
she’s lost in the wind.
she’s insane,
sending signs of chaos from within.
-

two swings, back and forth
a lovely rhythm of our feet scraping the ground
in opposition of each other
a pair in matching metal screeches
the eroded dips beneath us damp with rain.

the sun decides to leave us be
the clouds threatening to dampen us like the mulch
that finds it way into our shoes,
the wind picks up, pushing us higher
than we ought to be.

my hands find the chains
cold against my calloused skin
I brace myself against them, the swing out of my control
your hands find mine, you slow me down
my eyes are pressed shut.

i'll sketch you, mon ange
i'll draw you on the page, my pencil giving you immortality

i'll love you even when its cold, mon ange
i'll share my warmth, you'll never shiver in my arms

let me love you, mon ange
let me pleasure your slow, soft days.