Even my
      coloring books
            imply
  where my
             fierce loyalties
                     lie...

Kissing
and clawing.
Is it possible to devour a person with only your fingertips?

we're loving we're fighting we're feasting we're struggling.

We're pushing.
We're scratching the paint from all of the walls.

we're forgetting we're losing we're crumbling.

Confronted by reason,
we fall to pieces.

It's funny.

We were so convinced
instead
we were supposed to pull each other back together
again.

Some love is patient.
Some love is kind.
But just not always necessarily mine.
My love is urgent.
My love is fierce.
Like a memo not to be ignored;
like weaponry-
When readied can strike and pierce.
Some love does not envy, boast,
and it is never proud.
My love is capable of all of those things
and can be really ******* loud.
Some love is not easily angered
and keeps no record of wrong.
But my love flips **** sometimes and
has a list of grudges a mile long.
Some love does not delight in evil
and instead rejoices with the truth.
Well mine can play some twisted games
and deceives with the ease of impetuous youth.
My love can be difficult, irrational,
and devastatingly insecure,
but if you are fortunate enough to earn it,
it is guaranteed to
always protect,
always trust,
always hope,
And always persevere.

Each time my heart cracks
it just opens new spaces
for love to grow back.

Even in the spring
this city is so cold when
waking up alone.

Passion,
immediate and better (or worse) yet,
unable to be explained;
Not sparked or ignited
but rather somehow
instantly ablaze,
and consuming.
Selfish and relentless
it tore through our lives.
A force so potent, unforgiving,
and undeniably alive.
Violent and manic,
it forced us to believe,
magnetic,
that the universal powers that be
had something for us
waiting up their sleeves.
We trusted it,
followed it,
and tried to exploit every delight
while fighting and protesting,
falling victim to hope,
and subjecting logic to spite.
The rising crescendo was intoxicating,
aching escalation bringing us to this.
But who would have predicted
that this tremendous passion
would not explode
but rather fizzle out so abruptly
with a quick whimper and a brief final hiss?