My best side has always been colder without you right next to me.
I've always kept both my palms empty in case you ever wanted to hold a place you can comfortably call home
just in case you like the parking spaces for your heart more vacant, than simply empty.
But there has been no time for space ever since meeting you became my only vision, my only dream in this truthful illusion I've pet-named, life.
Somewhere within the darkest hours, between 1 and 3, honesty reveals it's shy face.
That is when I accept,
that my heart resides with you.
Because with you, is the only time that it accepts to beat.
I'd be a lair if I said that even amidst sunlight, I do not find room for two.
Laying next to you in bed
decaying while smiling into each others eyes, has become my only goal.
And you must know:
Falling asleep to the sound of sirens as loud as a million little laughs echoed from your deep, deep chest, is quieter when my own mouth is there to consume the noise; always my favorite desert, and your specialty.
I will be there to engrave your smile lines into my memory, whether you like it or not.
Like breaks in pavements that line busy streets
the ones you see every morning on your way to work, tempting you to turn around
but you don't dare break your mothers back.
And I am so, so sorry.
Love is no longer a choice, and anyone who's ever had one, has not ever taken one glimpse, at you.
They have never tasted sugar, without anything occupying their tongues.
I want a tattoo, an, "Until death do us part", not an, until the so called permanent fades.
Sinking my knees in quick sand for you to see,
love is something I always define with the few simple letters that spell out: "You."
"Only you."
"You are all."
You are it.
I just don't want you to be the blink of my eye.
I will not give up, until your lava hands are coursing my skin to unconsciousness
until erosion cannot talk back to us.

The existence of love was never a belief to me, sitting on the shelf right next to God and happy endings
collecting dust and fragments of all the times I thought, "I don't want love to be real, but I think I love you a lot."
Imagining what it really means to be held and to be blanketed with a warmth that is warm inside and out, without being harvested in a ***** cold, dying out like bare trees in the December seasons, that shudder and shake the chips in their shoulders until the sleet can fall off.
It's like walking until you reach a point in the road where you don't know where you are, where you're headed, why.
And it doesn't matter in the slightest.
There is nothing left to say than I love you, and that I don't believe in ghosts.
But you haunt me even when my eyes are closed and my ribs are moving in slow motion.
I wish I could kiss you even in my after life, and if heaven exists, I'm going to look God in the eye and ask him why he didn't give you to me sooner.
And then I'm going to tell him that all I've ever wanted was you.
No golden thrones. No pearly gates. No velvet beds.
Just satin skin wrapped over the bones I hold so dearly, as close to my heart as I possibly can.
I don't believe in love.
I only believe in you.

I have found love hidden between the low valley's of your perfectly high fingers. Love that I thought was lost at sea, and would be much too drenched anyway to bother to be found.
I have found love in the dark universe beyond your mouth and with teeth like stars, I think your lips are mouthing "I love you too", like pearly gates, voice like velvet ropes, pulling them either closed or apart.
I can almost see your skin light up when I grace my fingertips against your bare chest.
Cold, yearning to be warmed, if only by one small hand. As if my fingertips are the keys to unlock years of quiet defiance.
Our hands fit perfectly, I think that means you have the key to me too.
You are so soft, so tender, I am afraid that if I beg to caress your delicate face, you just might melt below my warmth, but I am a puddle of melted snow competing with just brewed coffee, and eyes all the warmer.
Thank god, thank god, thank god.
I am frozen solid, and somehow, you've thawed me all out, and didn't just mop me up.
You are so beautiful. Sometimes I just want to sit with you in your car. Just look at you. I want it to rain hard against your windows, on your roof, and I want to kiss you even harder.
Want thunder and lightning to cower in the strength of our lips.
I will just listen to the rhythms of your breaths until I've figured you out.
Until I understand what makes you smile without even flinching.
Until I understand love.
If I could possibly be any closer to you than we are right now, I'd be a glacier, transformed into faint summer rain.
I'd pour and pour and pour, if I could wither away with you.
"Won't you just hold me, just don't say a word."
Suddenly it is a desert in here
and my ice cube walls are coming down quickly.
You are less an inferno, more a kindling fire, to a shivering soul.
You are the only one who would never burn me down.
Thank you for being my only source of heat.

Beautiful is something we either never take enough time on, or always take too much.
So *******, with a pearly white smile on my face.
Because today, I will write about something beautiful, and I will remember the way it begins with the letter “you” or “why” or “you are the love of my life.”
And you are, there is no will, there is no way, of denying such solidly factual things.
But lightning never struck twice in the same place where I come from, and if we grew up in the same neighborhood, it might be easier to understand.
Pretending that love is just a thunder storm, and flickering lights are just temporary, is nothing but a permanent thought.
And you are tattooed right on my brain stem.
So if you are going to take me in your right hand and pull me close and let your eyes fall slightly until our lips are doing the same
please think about how many storms have turned into hurricanes
and how many hearts a hurricane can ****.
I know, this was supposed to be beautiful.
But mainly, beautiful things have to be truthful.
And the truth is not always pretty.
But you are breath taking
I think that is why there is still an ocean between us
but I am willing to drown.

I've made it a habit to set fire to the things that I love
And you, I love the most.
For you, my old words have thrown themselves at purple flames
and drowned them out with inferno tinted tears.
We are creatures of habit
and I may have made a habit of myself.
What if I don’t want my habits to reek of sitting in showers
1. have I washed my hair yet
2. the water has run cold
3. I have already showered this much today
Confusing sunrise with sun set
1. has it already been 24 hours
2. am I awake
3. how much time has gone by, how many sun cycles have I wasted
You are only sleeping with tragedy, when you become this sad, for this long
But what if I want my habits to be nothing but repetitions of you
Habitual skin and bone and scent and love
But love is the hardest habit of all to break.
I hope when we are finished, I am still in one piece.

I’m trying to grasp the concept of your hands grasping me, and there’s light in your serenely contorted sweat;
Bulging veins pressed against sweet warm delicate mouths exerting a mass of please, and please what?, and a quiet commotion of soft tongues making love, fighting slow and easy for something like a longer I love you, maybe, or another tight grip towards a vulnerable destination, where angels live in the whites of your glassy eyes, but I just want heavens doors to slam shut.
I might be the devil and I demand: “Oh please dear god”, but my body is your only savior and getting on your knees to worship a little never hurt anyone.
I ache for your touch, till your flames are still
I am swimming in thoughts of your ice-made skin, and I am satisfied with hypothermia
Beg for you to watch me choke on my breaths until you can write a whole new list of tasteful sins on my naked flesh.
I want to swallow you whole, want to melt away with you until we deliquesce into one.
I crave you
and me
a few hundred tick-tocks full of skin on
tender
post-possessed
skin.