It was most boastful of me to assume that I could be the one to fill your cup
to assume that no other flower could fulfill you in the same manner
who am I to assume that we don't look just as lovely in a vase
and who are you to compare a rose to a carnation?
one whose grace is affiliated with beauty itself
and another that bumbles clumsily along like that of a lost bee
in every flower pressed,
in every poem composed
I seem to grow more tired of describing this ephemeral love
I continue to saudade in pursuit of moiety
leaving myself in a state of perpetual hireath
but in full honesty, I don't mind you switching me out for rose here and then
though I can't help but ponder
if she holds the same warmth in your arms
as one does in mine
and as to whether or not I will always be a stand-in for the next lovely rose to come

-a blissfully ignorant stand-in, a carnation

would you run your fingers through my hair once more?
wash over me like an august rain
relieving me of the oh so cruel drought
i have cast upon myself

How come we are only lovers in the dark?
No sight is needed for we know every crevasse,
every curve,
recognizable by the very touch of a finger
and yet

"love is blind"
but what if it is only blind?
What if the night holds fits of passions,
but those very affections depart with the rising sun?
The facade beginning once again with daylight herself

Our love is blind by choice
Eyes gouged by the very hands we hold
We feel the warmth of each others touch,
at the cost of our very senses.

How enticing her flames must be
that even after I am deformed with burns
I always come back
no longer ignorant of the pain
but just as enticed by the flames
as to run my fingers through her flickering hair once more
scorching them

or
discarding stitches
as I graze her soft fervent cheek

for shock eases the pain into warmth
and when I am to be burned at the stake
It won't be the ropes that restrain me
you hold me tight and whisper
"stay."
and I will
and I do
even as my comrades call from beyond the flames
you squeeze my hand
and I discard them like dry grass

For when the fumes fill my lungs
I grin
my breath weary
her lips on mine
sparing just enough air to continue