i remember of the artless days before i had met you and how whenever i went, i'd see a horizon star sewn;
how i could delve into utopian reveries and feel indulged, and how every kiss was a profound violet in bloom. (and how i was repulsed by boys who smoked--despise you for that)
then you came around. it was like every motion and resonance around me flatlined, all flesh faltered into corpses,
but in that virus abraded imagery, there was you:
a flaming grandeur of all that appeals.
you could have titled yourself a heavenly entity between a solely-all greyscale and i would have still believed--
i'd see your face in enthralling outlines before i went to sleep and whenever i spoke, your name gritted the back of my teeth, my bloodstream was fluxes with you written all over it.
went retrograde about it three times and it never passed. you named it cupid's love but i knew better. first blossom of spring and the archers drew their bows, i never saw you again.
i refused to go through the reversal phase; clung to the image of your lips, eyes, the color-enhancing visages that altered my retina, and decided that you were a better victimless ****** than any hit of codeine.
i never did go back.
i see stars but do not see chronology behind them, sleep but never rest, laugh but never with rapture, and anything even barely emphemeral feels like a century.
i'll always pray for heaven to let me back in: whether into culprits' hands or not.