Sometimes it feels like
our love
is a sterile field
that you cannot touch,
afraid of contamination
and connection,
but I will you to,
I want you to reach out
your fingers,
graze the edges of my soul
with your ****** latex gloves,
for I'm not afraid
of the parts of you that are human,
and the parts of you that aren't safe.

You are a beautiful, tragic thing,
made to be broken, made to feel weak,
your skin like pergament,
time settling under your nails like dust
on a photograph.

Your love is a kaleidoscope
and my head is getting dizzy
my eyes begin to water
drowning in the swirling of
emotions,
yours and mine
in a big mess of blood,
turquoise, needles,
shards of hope and pain
all intertwining
to create the vision of some
beautiful, fragile thing,
a shake of the hand away
from being broken.

delicate flowers
grey on black
growing in his lungs
like sakura blossoms
in spring
ashes to ashes
a beginning to an end

Blue sand beer bottled vertigo
white gauze in humid air
relentlessly, burning your throat
and your feet
all to be washed away
by the warm juice of young coconuts
and the hungry lapping of the waves
taking, taking, taking,
until there is nothing left
but a heavy heart,
and a distinct longing,
an ache that it is better to bury.

How can it be so painful
to never have had someone
and my eyes have been so blind
my heart so misled
that I must have seen something
in every look and every gesture
so awfully stupid
and all the while
you don´t even properly know my name.