tangle your fingers in my hair
trace my collar bones w/
your porcelain lips
but please, I beg-
don't look into
my empty
eyes.

I've been screaming
confessions in the dark
like some sort of sin

I've been proclaiming to the
heaven, as if you've become
my sunday testimony

but you don't believe in saint
and you don't believe in gods

but I swear when you hold me
your eyes are greater than
all cathedrals

they tell me you believe in miracles

you like the way I move my hips, but sometimes I get jealous of the trees that dance to the wind better than I could ever. and I'm sorry, that you could never make me catch my breath as i do when the wind blows harshly on an early spring evening. and I'm sorry I could never look at you the way i look out the window of a plane, mesmerized I'm 47,000 ft in the air. you like the way I run my fingers down your spine slowly, but I just need you know that soon I'll leave you and your paradise that has now become my hell.